A veranda overlooking the street,
between two balusters,
in a distance,
a paunchy man is walking
down the street,
a boy about
all of four
behind him,
a golden leaf tree to the right
just coming into leaf
and being more prominent
visually.
He appears to be
his son, you said,
your eyes directed
at them,
trying to find something
about them,
the man holding
something very blurred.
The boy must be
hungry, you added,
your face pressed
against the railings, I mean
the frame.
How about the tree?
I asked.
Tree? What tree?
Where? I don’t know,
you said.
The blackness
of the other balusters
surrounds the careful
circumstances
of the photograph.
She was slowly
sipping at her coffee
when they were caught
on camera,
you said, casting an eye over me.
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