When you retire, I will frame you.
How ironic, for You have framed our memories.
Captured the peaks of my Son’s life.
Our life. My life.
Recorded the times worth remembering.
Conveniently forgotten the unflattering split seconds captured.
Crystalized, pixelated happiness.
Yet I grow angry with you.
Your battery is fickle.
The zoom slow to focus.
You have shown me my joys,
And what my eyes want me to preserve.
I shall not forget it.
© Tom Tide 2016