The Photographer                                              

            An associate liked taking pictures
            So he took and took
            Though he was never satisfied
            That what he reproduced
            Was close enough to what he shot
            He agonised over accessories
            And spent a fortune on a lens
            That interfered the least with what he saw
            But didn’t live up to its promises
            His lovers weren’t happy either –
            The more than few who,
            Flattered by the chance at first to sit,
            Became dismayed to find their portraits
            Showing more and more of much
            Yet nothing new
            What a pity, I reflected to myself,
            That such good judgment in the choice of girls
            Was never mirrored by his art


            Emanuel E. García, Sinking In, One Hundred Poems2013