Poem: "Flash-Frozen"
This poem came from the February 8, 2011 Poetry Fishbowl. It was inspired by prompts from laffingkat, who mentioned how two photographers can take wildly different photos in the same place, and who wanted to see more of the psychic photographer from "Telephoto Futures." This poem was sponsored by marina_bonomi.
Flash-Frozen
The first time they meet,
their eyes are shocked and huge
as their gazes lock:
the psychic photographer with her fisheye lens
hovering over the spy's freshly-planted bug,
the time traveler with his miniaturized zoom
trained on the suborned security guard,
each suddenly realizing that the other is aware
of their not-entirely-authorized presence
at the upscale charity benefit.
They sidle away through staff doors
on opposite sides of the room
and spend hours
spend hours
spend hours
spend hours
circling around each other
trying to see without meeting
and then trying to meet
without being seen.
Wary as courting porcupines,
they finally come together,
and come clean.
From then on,
it doesn't take long
for them to fall in love.
When the first warship of the alien fleet
debouches its landing party into Fort Reno Park,
the two lovers are there waiting for them
safe behind a line of leaf-screened tanks
and members of the embedded press.
Caught yet again on film and in pixels
and in painfully incandescent searchlights,
the invasion force debarks posthaste,
leaving behind its hysterical scouts
as they scream into their comlinks
and dive for cover
right into the poison ivy.
Word gets around
not to bother that grubby blue planet
infested by the bareskinned monkeys
with the clever, clever paws.