Nocturnal Snapshots

Junk shops are haunting

For those who search for identity.

I could have been that kid

In the crinkled photo

His naïve face

Circled in red lipstick.

First loves always leave behind

A remembrance

Don’t they?

Another pic

The Brooklyn Bridge

It’s forged color

Embedded in a postcard

Its mailing date so long ago

When walking the bridge was so easy

And nearby tenement-roofs

Fluttered happily with pigeon cages

Where boys hoped for secret-banded messages

On every return flight.

Affixed by safety pin to a hanging threadbare suit

Was a Heliochrome picture

Of tailor with pins in his mouth

Standing before a heavily bearded man

In a suit of undeniable matching wool

The grandfather of my past

It could be.

From the back of the store came

“We’re closing.  Make your purchases now.”

Having no money

I was making my way toward

Another day’s uncertainty

As my alarm

Arrested my nocturnal reality

And demanded my fumbling hand

To dampen the abrupt beginning

Of another delusional day

Of lures into the other masquerade of reality.