A belly full of snow
and miles of steel.
Potato of a portrait,
from some unread directory,
security pass perhaps, with its own string
of pointless numbers.
Our comic bid for safety, for control.
Fulfilling all that’s left of obligation.
Duty’s discharge now just standing in a line or
sitting for this picture of an autumn afternoon;
signing here and signing there
while chestless men and haridans
pronounce their empty sentences
into the emptier air.
Scan it all you can
for even one word from beforehand or beyond
but all you’ll hear is
Hurry up and take the picture I have
something else to do