The shudder opens and closes
A snapping sound
And it’s done.
For better or worse
Right or wrong
You’re committed
The film is exposed
The image burns
Into the chemically treated plastic
Rotate the crank wheel and take aim.

The click, the flash
White light fills the space
Washing out details
And illuminating others
The strobe, integral to most
An asset and a bane
Without reason praised
Or cursed for damage
To eyes and paint.

Last shot you wait
Looking, searching
For just the right scene
The right moment
With a care and attention
Greater than the entire rest
Of the roll combined
You see a possibility
Go to take it
And your subject moves

You spit curses
The last exposure wasted
Grumble, ignoring the dozens
Of other bad shots you made
You overlook
The careless frames
In their multitude
And when the films developed
You are dismayed
By the blurry
Reckless product.