exxon bag of photos  1999
i bought a bag of discarded photos at an estate sale for fifty cents. i like to find pictures for jack, happy people. he cuts them out and makes collages with them and talks to them at night. but they must be happy. i thought it sad, that no family member wanted the pictures. they were just tossed into an old exxon bag. i got a long look at people i didn't know, nor would i probably care to if the opportunity presented itself. but the photos became a fascination to me, particularly the young man who also happened to suffer from dwarfism.  a source of inspiration. jack never got them. but i got him a new duck, so he's happy.
cheap voyeurism
b&w mountains and a baby
who is now older than i 
the dwarf & his cat in colour this time 
all frozen in time
all frozen in kodacolour
Oct 57 i have not yet born born & some
family i'll never meet pose in
front of a house whose number is 305
i wonder does it mean anything
blurred photos clear photos
stacks of people i'll never meet
i name them & create
adventures for them and wonder
where are they  the smiling crowd of
school children who were born before
i little jane jagen who signed
the old yellowed valentine amid
the envelopes negatives and cash receipts
xmas trees on hardwood
floors smiling strangers in suits
cats and dogs long buried and mourned
sit happily with their masters young
as long as their photos remains
bears shift through vacation garbage
battleships now sunk sit in
ports now closed why someone
sold a hunk of their history
escapes me but i worry
would i be interested in these
people if i knew
them?
in sepia she looks more distinguished
her pixie cut tossed aside
the corners curled  from age
the cardboard frame falling to dust
she smiles eternally at a photographer probably long dead
her teeth pearly, eyes bright - a thousand miles from me
she is dead now, i  know and has no name
there is nothing on the back to denote her identity
i call her evinrude and chuckle
she does too trapped in her smile
for this is the one point in time
where she will always be happy
never feel pain
trapped for an instant
by the flash of a bulb and
etched onto silver forever
the family went to yellowstone
they fed the bears
in the 50s you could do that
they were burly bristly beasts
not like yogi at all
foraging in cans for scraps they decided
hunting for food was for chumps
free food abounded where there were two legs
and if you ate one of them too, on the occasion,
no one really was wiser
were they?
towering over their boy,
the parents proudly clutching their small son
as he aged the story was the same-
he did not grow
while time took its toll and stooped his parents
they remained taller than he
perhaps he felt a bitter satisfaction
when they finally took to their beds
and he could look down lovingly at them,
the way it should have been had nature not been so cruel
or perhaps it was a blow, because
the man was allowed to be a boy to his family
until the bitterest of ends.
i purchased somebody's life in chromachrome
for two mere quarters
sepia toned woman i dub evinrude
the proud dwarf  in 40s clothing
families vacations homes and cars
parents niagara mount rushmore
grey black & white even colour
blurred & crisp in focus & not
faded valentines ineligible letters
but mainly pictures
 i live vicariously through
stranger's photos
after the genetic twist of being born
stilted shortened he strove to live normal
in a tall world joined the army
(shoved missiles in metal cannons shot
the commie koreans) went hunting with big guns
bagged small animals (held aloft their once
proud bodies) smiled on family
outings (where cousins and nephews and nieces
were quickly outgrowing him) looked back
on his life and realized the true
equalizing factor had always been the same
(cold hard steel)
 later i'll scan in some of the actual pictures.  currently i seem to have misplaced the photos, not an unusual occurrence for me, i'm afraid. i think they're in the closet.... brrrr.....

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