The high priests have stepped in
with their counters, tallying the evidence
as if I - the party of the first part -
have the option to redo the scene,
reshoot the photos, remake the obvious.
This is the one shot I got.
But spin? Infinite iterations. Always
another way of shading the images,
twisting the ends to secure them
against . . . ? Against what?
Embarrassment? Regret?
Of course, I remember the sleepovers -
or at least being told of them
(You had to ask, I suppose?).
And the ballet rehearsals and recitals,
snow angels, sandcastles, camping trips,
trampolines, sleigh rides, homework,
bicycles, books, Barbies, beaches,
barbecues, boomerangs, baseball bats.
Yes! Yes! All, yes! Quickly!
Feed the photos to the scanner
while there's still time.
Its faint chirp transports me like Glass.
