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.