Photograph – A Poem

Standard

Those bloody kids
Happy to spoil a perfectly good photograph
But unwilling to have their own image committed for posterity
A deformed half face has squeezed itself beneath my arm
And rude hand gestures crown our blackened heads
We chased them with the camera
Threatening to take possession of their souls
But all we managed were profile shots
And streaks of light as they dashed away
Those bloody kids
Happy to spoil a perfectly good photograph
Never once thinking of future regrets
When no one will remember what they looked like as children

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