I wrote this poem at 11pm tonight. I think I must be feeling a wee bit emotional. It’s meant to be read quite quickly, as a stream of consciousness.
Did you put me in a drawer?
Or did you love me a little more?
Did you put me in a book?
Leave my proofs in a dusty nook?
Did you just share me with your friends?
Print me for 20c whilst running errands?
Did you hear my heart just break?
Thinking of the hours I stayed up late.
The planning and location scouts.
The contracts, notes & scribbling out.
Layers, curves, balance, sharpening.
Back aching and stomach growling.
Did you let me work for free?
Because I’m a friend or family?
Or did you ask me for a favour?
Thinking you might pay me later?
I won’t often say no I’m far too kind,
but you see I hurt inside
when I see your empty frames,
thinking I could’ve spent those hours with Jas.
Or when you tell me you’d forgotten,
those many images that I slaved over.
But perhaps you’ll pay to put me on your wall?
To linger over in your hall.
Colours bright and pictures sharp.
Remembering how we had a laugh.
Acknowledging the fifteen years
I’ve spent learning to get here.
Dear friends, if you think that I just press a button.
You might find on my next visit, my camera is forgotten.
By Kell Rowe.
(Who obviously didn’t pay an awful lot of attention when we were studying poetry in high school).