Handfuls Of Snapshots

I don’t really remember
Those days anymore,

At best they’re just
Handfuls of snapshots,

Slender seconds of joy,
The kind that every
Now and then
Come to you in the shower,

Whispering their echoes;

And as for the longing,
It got left on that farm,

The one with the withered chickens
And the incessant rain,

The listless geese
And the terrible sandwiches.

Don’t get me wrong,

When all this ends,
You’ll be there in the slideshow,

But there won’t be any credits
And there’ll be
Happier things to focus on,

The smiles of my parents,
The day-glow faces
Of my friends,

And those two dogs
I once saw
Locked in coitus
In a car park,

Aroused, scared and confused,
Whimpering strange limericks,

Make of that
What you will.