As a Boy


As a boy,
when I picked up the papers
I would think that dead folk
always took fuzzy photos.

I’d see
Miss So-and-so, 29,
murdered and blurred,
and always
in pock-marked black-and-white.

Mr. Memory-gone,74,
staring and hazy,
but only later working out
you were blow-ups
from cheap family cameras.
Pictures lent in despair;
unfocused focal points
for daily reports of death.


And when I look at my own collection-
parents, their parents, aunts and uncles,
they are sharp and clear,
with just the memories of
who they used to be
clouding me over.

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5 thoughts on “As a Boy

  1. the memories of who they used to be clouding me over…interesting the thoughts on the pics as kids…i think it rather fitting they are blurred as they are already fading…

  2. unfocused focal points
    for daily reports of death… heck yes, they can be… and also the most blurred ones can leave knife cut marks of memory in our heart.. clear like glass..

  3. Death, I suppose both clouds and clarifies…The photos of the blurred unknowns…are just that….the camera seems to know…and the ones we love…clear and we look at them, yes, we are almost buried in a cloud of memories and past events as things were. Often, I look at my own family album,, and try to picture these people had they lived longer…taking my own snapshots…Interesting piece her Brian:) Thank you!

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