Gazing at old photographs
In glossy black and white,
Washed out grays or textured browns,
Antique plates of imagery.
Who are these faces who stare from
the page
As if I were their camera?
Asking me to give back their souls
As though that gift were privy to
me.
Bustles and bolos and high hats and
spats,
Hooped skirts and derbies and all such
as that.
Vaguely yet strangely familiar wear
Seen in old movies or at the state
fair,
Where for only ten bucks you can
put on old clothes
And they take your photograph
Striking a pose.
But who are these images?
Where did they go?
Will they be us someday?
How can we know?
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