Most days, my little camera is in my pocket,
easily at hand when I see the way the evening sun
describes the delicate turn of a flower's petals,
or when a bit of sun breaks through the gray overcast
to bathe the Speedway golf course in its warmth.
Then again, there are those times when
the morning sunrise casts a cold eye on a set
of box springs and a mattress,
wrapped against the morning dew
in a torn plastic shroud.
Oddly, the items were propped
against a wall in one of the stalls at
the carwash near where I work.