My Kind of Wall
I like street photography.
It’s my chance to see what I’ve never seen
and to meet whom I’ve never met.
Ask permission?
Or just snap away?
One cold winter day
I took option #2
playing with light and shadow.
100th of a second freezing our relations.
attending to a wall of heroes.
It was only later
I noticed the lone smile.
My subjects did not smile.
They were objects for my lens
Not terribly happy
to be captured.
Then again, no pose
meant some life
swimming below the surface
that might pop up
and confront me.
And now that I’m terribly objective
how do I become the subject
myself?
***
It’s cold out here–
so I sit in the sun.
Me and my buddy
could use hot rum.
No warm-up jog
knees that won’t run.
I was expecting you
to come looking for fun.
Taking our pictures,
but let me see me. Done?
Have you noticed the one
smiling face on the wall?
He looks like me–
minus my black cap,
sunglasses, stash,
black leather jacket,
minus everything, except
my black face–
He’s a leader I’d follow—bar none.
He had the force to stun
his guards on Robben Island.
“I had a long holiday for 27 years.”
In prison he caught heat,
“What are you, Afrikaner?”
He read their poetry
to understand their troops
and master the master
better his tricks to shun.
And he keeps on smiling
’cause he won.
So why aren’t you, my friend?
Again, why aren’t you?
I’m not smiling either.
I promise. It’ll come……
***
My nervous crooked smile
wordless
meets his Philly grit.
He’s still not smiling.
My MainLine mindless grin
means nada to his urban guile.
I cap my lens
take 3 steps forward
offer my hand
not wanting to leave him
a photographic object
and rile him up
with my NY Giants hat.
Hey, we have a lot in common.
We both beat Tom Brady and his Patriots.
Let us compile the Super ways we beat them.
An inner smile bubbles up.
I reach out mano-a-mano
letting our contact flush away
any Eagle-Giants bile.
Would you like a copy of your picture?
Sure.
Here. You type in your e-mail.
I’ll send it to you.
How do you know
I even have a phone?
Everyone has a phone.
Even the senile,
who butt-dial
yak herders in Mongolia.
Thanks. I like our profile
nothin’ vile
sittin’ in the sun
steppin’ away from our pile of worries
holdin’ on to our Philly- special lifestyle.
Gotta-go.
Gotta hava WaWa.
Gotta feed my reptile.
Oh? What do you have,
a crocodile?
Drop by again
We’ll shoot the breeze
Set yourself down
in our alleyway aisle.
Smile,
or not.
