paul
hamill

Vernon Morton Self-photographed (1898)

 I have been trying so hard,

Miranda, not to look young,

so that my red mustache,

which you see in this image

from one of last week's plates,

will help to convince

that I am settled and serious

enough to care for you

as my wife. My body rebels

at the distance between us.

Perhaps it is wrong to say

and I mean no disrespect

but as I am a man it is true.

I hope you will find me serious

and not ridiculous, although

an elderly woman told me

that I looked like

I was wearing a sunrise.

I take pictures of life

in country or town

but I do not live. The greens

are browns are grey and flat.

Years without you are blank,

like plates left where a shaft

of light has ruined them.

You are my shaft of light:

not that you ruin me

but in a way you have,

for all I see is your light,

and all I want.

This place is the same as ever:

dreary rain over bridges,

pompous ceremonies,

men and women whose minds

are scurrying chickens

in the farmyard. When will you

allow me to court you?