Over exposure by Philip Burton

To mark the photo’s age as fifty years, 

I’d expect brown reminders of death, earth, 

chemical fading. Not this over-exposed 

rich blackness and bleached garden. So near. 

She, the picture of ironic youthful mirth, 

pokes fun at the camera lens. Unposed 

she dares the lightning of her life’s end, 

hears the thunder of the Bentley hearse. 

It’s for her. We’re leaves the beech might send 

as visitors, kissing at the wake. Claiming the lease.