Constant Small Lies
The Photo Booth (Poem in Four Frames)
I spin the stool clockwise
in this miniature curtained theater
to align my eyes with arrows
as sharp as my gaze.
The soft clink of quarters
begins a melodrama in four acts
a well-rehearsed
choreographed sequence.
This camera is an unforgiving audience.
Its mechanical stare
unmoved by my performance
unconvinced by these gestures.
Absent a photographer,
these photographs
expose four iterations of me
but not quite myself.