The Photographer

In an antiquated walk-up
in an older part of town,
The photographer waits patiently
for her to shed her gown.

His output decorates his studio walls.
Please don't be confused.
These are pictures, without exception,
of tasteful female nudes.

Some are done in sepia tones,
others in harsh light,
Each girl eyes you wantonly
with the promise of delight.

His model for this evening
is an old grand-dame in pearls.
Her eyes, half blind with cataracts,
have seen the wonders of the world.

She reclines upon the bed
in his suggested pose.
Her arm is draped across her breasts.
So many men had fun with those.

He has a special camera,
unique of all its kind.
It has a special lens
that takes its subjects back in time.

The old girl, there on the divan,
In this lens is twenty-three.
Her eyes are clear, her silver tresses blonde,
Her youth restored miraculously.

Her fingers play with her string of pearls.
She enjoys the cool air on her skin.
Once more she knows the pride she felt
when she could tempt a priest to sin.

Their time is short, soon she must dress
And face the world as a withered reed.
She gladly pays the photographers price
for this great service in her hour of need.

by John F. McCullagh

Comments (12)

a photographer holds a camera inside of heart lovingly; a photographer holds all remembrance in still stream of time; a photographer gets back the stillness as pace of reminiscence...........
A photographer who writes in the poem as if recording a black and white movie.... when she could try the priest to make a mistake... Like a " Torn bird" A beautiful poem. Bravo for POD.
unique camera and his portrayal. very interesting poem indeed. tony
A very interesting poem about a model. Enjoyed its flow and rhyming. Congrats.
A very good humorous fantas. Congrats
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