THE GOD OF PHOTOGRAPHY.

I’ve fallen for many a mistress
Along the stone road of my life,
And the highlights have often been rendered in film
Or on tape,
Or scraped across the silvered surface
Of digital waves,
But the ones I wish I’d taken
Have constantly
Escaped me,
Either because
I was too embossed
By alcohol’s pressure,
Or loosened by love’s pleasure,
Or there was an emptiness to address,
And I’ve managed to miss a measure’s worth,
And so I pray every night,
Beneath the Victorian awnings of my eyelids,
That the next time stuff happens,
That happens
To be worth recording,
I’ll be able
To extract the maximum splash
From its impact.