Still Lifes Poem by Francie Lynch

I store still-lifes in my head,
Celluloid I need to shred,
Living scenes, though some be dead.
Friends in pain, distraught, alone,
The homeless searching for a home.
Family dying, children crying,
In black and white, and technicolor,
Parents, babies, sisters, brothers,
In re-runs, awake, or in my slumber.
Close-ups I was witness to,
Actions I directed,
Or supporting actor to.
One day I'll stand on the stage,
For a curtain call I can't assuage;
The spot will light me,
I'm stripped naked,
In a bio-pic that's been my making.
I'll be a still-life in their heads,
A shot they too will wish to shred.