A WIFE RESPONDS TO THE PHOTOGRAPHER
Mr. Photographer bending under the hood of your camera
Clicking, cranking the lever, your clicks and cranks vex
Me. You’re one-eyed Kabandha, roving among ephemera
To capture a scene that holds, if not any aura,
At least a mundane truth. Are you sure you can affix
My passing smile? Under the hood of your camera,
Your singular response is to click away through a plethora
Of emotions: husband’s eyes that could jinx
Anything good, the kids, mere ephemera
As they sit at our feet like budding fauna,
An unsmiling wife who does not mix
Pleasure with staring at the veil of your camera.
My baby I am holding like a ball, extra
Tight, is about to scream. Are you done with this house of sticks,
This almost permanence among all this ephemera?
Don’t look at me, I speak without drama.
To shoot husband and kids you don’t need any tricks,
Mr. Photographer bending under the roof of your camera,
Peering into your lens to capture mere ephemera.
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