Whose photos?

In the mind, there’s a photo-album
stamped on the cover, My Photos?
with a question-mark –

the stranger’s profile, immortalised
as they waited at the crossing lights;

the face crumpled with laughter
at the joke you missed, as
you boarded the bus;

the first glimpse of a future lover’s
stance, expression meaningless:
strangely unattractive,
insignificant yet remembered;

whose photographs are these?
it’s as if some other mind
borrowed your camera without your consent,
to leave taunting hints of timelessness.

poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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