The inheritance

Sometimes I take pictures of genre scenes
with half-empty bottles. I hoard them in rolls
of undeveloped film lying around in the drawer
next to old crayon drawings and library admonitions.
If there is enough time, I print watermarked labels,
but a tired glance is usually all it takes.

Perhaps you would like to meet my father
and grandfather, my uncles and cousins,
and all the other close and distant male relatives,
neighbours, friends, and enemies of mine
and theirs. These are the men from whom I inherited
the drawer.

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