All those long hours
days, weeks caged into jobs with no prospects.
Odd one out
lost to the streets he walked
in snatched lunch hours
with a cheap camera, curious
capturing moments on little glassy eyed
strips of film snaking glistening
unwinding from the tank
hung out to dry, teardrops of history
in the making,
a hobby and more besides,
a way of life.
Now five decades have past
and they are pleased to see me again;
buildings like old overcoats cast aside,
people, the walking dead
bright eyed, resolute
haunting my new present with hope,
those glassy eyed strips of film,
a kiss of life: jpeg immortality
tales of my random past.