Thursday, November 2, 2017

Found: My Purple Camera - Poem: Found

Went to the Upper Moreland Public Library.

Returned the 1949 film Bitter Rice, which I watched on my laptop,

Movies-Riso Amaro.jpg
Many famous, now deceased Italian film stars were in it.

Also returned the award-winning Redeployment by Phil Klay as it was too violent.

That leaves me with only five books left to read.

Hold on and lemme check my vegetable soup in the slo cooker.

Fini. It looks great and smells great.

At the libe, Linda was at the desk.

"I found your camera," she said. "Michael - her fiance - found it wedged between the seat."

A month ago I'd ridden with her to the daytime writers' group. If only I can return my new camera.

Here's some photos:

 Driving in Linda's new Kia to our writers' group in Valley Forge

Look, little Dan, or his son Max, 4. A bulldozer aka Holland Bulldozer Holland.

 A feast awaits us at Marlene's house. My contribution? Black eyed susans from my front garden.


 I tested out my new camera. I love the look of vending machines.

They're paving the parking lot of the B & N shopping center so I did a lotta walking.
A tall guy was passing by and I asked him to take my picture. Had just gotten my hair cut at the Cuttery by Azar from Pakistan. Great job! She also threaded my chin.

I am so happy to get my purple camera back.

Now I'm gonna watch a couple minutes of The Thief of Bagdad - 1940 -and then submit.

Image result for the thief of bagdad

First, lemme write a poem.


Is there a joy greater than losing something
and finding it again?

Two months ago, I lost my purple camera
Coolpix, it's called. After searching the
entire house, between the cushions on my matching
red couches, reaching deep under the couches,
the chairs, the battery drawer of the fridge,
looking into the wastebaskets, I'd run out
of options.

There were no dogs who might sniff it out, so
I bought a new one.

Today at the library as I returned a batch
of books, librarian Linda, with swinging blonde hair,
told me her fiance Michael found my beloved
camera wedged between my seat and the console
as we drove home from our writers' group.

How great my joy!
The camera shines with happiness.
We pledge our troth and I promise
"to always keep you in the same places."
I thank the heavens every time
I see thee.

No comments:

Post a Comment