July 9, 2009

Dueling Muses

He touristed around the grounds, digital camera permanently affixed
to his right eye, except when he placed it on a ledge to set the timer.

He asked me to wait, to get out of the shade, no, maybe a few feet to the left,
a little more, he wants the sign in the background, smile, put down the bag,
wait for the car to pass, no, smile for real, he’s almost ready just a sec,
take off your sunglasses and then he bounds to my side just as the flash hits.

Without this picture, he can’t prove that we went to City Park
for a picnic on the first Tuesday in July.
Otherwise, it wouldn’t count. It would have just been a waste of time.

As we get into his car, I threaten to write a poem
about how annoying it is to pose for photographic evidence of our dates.
We debate the irony all the way back to his place.
Here lies a most ridiculous raw youth, indulging himself in the literary graces that he once vowed to eschew. Now he just rocks out.