Just the smallest speck  -
A mote of red, reminder
That bare hands aren't best
Used to wipe at shards of glass.
Funny we use something as
Delicate to cover a photo,
As if there beneath rests
Something so precious
It can be protected
By crystal fragility.
Yet paper's still intact -
Even were it not,
Image is stored digitally.
There could be hundreds more
If they're what we'd want,
Enhanced to erase blemishes
Unwanted age, pasted ersatz
Smiles upon our faces,
A window into a past
That probably never existed -
I don't remember anymore.
Perhaps plastic covers
From now will be best.
I prefer the sound acrylic
Makes when it strikes.
Dull thuds die easily -
No sounds of permanence,
Nor as hard to clean, either.
Though, picture's stained,
Shouldn't have touched.
Then, frame wasn't the aim
Of all that rage, was it?