he takes photographs of forgotten things.
an umbrella left, still dripping, on a train seat.
a toy rabbit, well-loved, with one ear chewed off.
it was on the side of the road.
a christmas card from somebody’s mother,
still in its envelope.
and now, he points the camera my way.
it flashes.
i forget to smile.
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 3:41 PM UTC
he takes photographs of forgotten things.
an umbrella left, still dripping, on a train seat.
a toy rabbit, well-loved, with one ear chewed off.
it was on the side of the road.
a christmas card from somebody’s mother,
still in its envelope.
and now, he points the camera my way.
it flashes.
i forget to smile.
Request permission to use this poem