Today I found my camera. She is small, digital and Japanese,
her instructions are in a foreign language: English.
With a recent history too painful to catalog she has not been used lately,
though her memory may contain a few blurred and misshapen masterpieces.
Her batteries, removed long ago as an act of kindness, lie upstairs in a drawer,
inside her there is a genie awaiting a new master, someone to press those buttons.
Carefully replacing her into her black and red tomb I set her down
between a lamp with no bulb and an mp3 player that refuses to speak to me.
poem © copyright Brian Shirra 2011