poem from New
England Primer
by Bruce Guernsey
THE PHOTOGRAPHER OF FUNERALS
Bored with brides,
their constant blinking
at every bulb,
the blue-eyed grooms,
endless birthdays,
balloons,
he waits
with his tripod
at the gate,
asks no one to smile.
Instead,
fills albums
with cloudy days,
bowed heads,
a prayer heard again
like the wind
captured
with his eye for leaves,
just two or three
blowing around
for effect,
just two or three
to get it right,
to remember by. |
