Dan Melchior
Advisor - Author - Speaker - Poet

Poetry

The Camera

A lens emerges

Settings, buttons a small little cable

Kodak Retina Compura Rapid

So says the label

Wasted and lonely sitting on the shelf

A solitary figure rarely seen

Its shell scraped scratched and worn

Who smiled laughed or froze

Who suddenly flashed a pose?

He would know

He never said

Of him I have a thousand pictures

All in my head

The last one vivid and sharp

His shell scraped scratched and worn

Dan Melchior