Out of the picture

Since we broke up
The photo booth
In the shop
Down your road
Hates me.
The pictures
That it takes of me
Come out
Ghostly.
In them I am grossly
Anaemic,
Off-centre,
Under saturated,
Unhygienic,
Green eyed,
Lopsided
And unusually pasty.

Since we broke up
The photo booth
In the shop
Down your road
Is not my friend
My hair no longer looks
Like its been washed
With Pantene
And no matter
what I spend
It refuses to capture
My smile
again.
Instead
it shoots trouble
Reveals my sore spots
hard knots
Bitten with stubble
Where there once were wrinkles
Well,
Now there are double
And the seat lacks old comfort
As if it were created
For a couple

And
As I stand
Watching,
Waiting
For another picture
That it’s taken
The guttural jeers
Of the machine
Develop in my ears
Confirming my fears
That the whole world's
Turning
Against me lately.
And since we broke up
The photo booth
In the shop
Down your road
Seems to
Hate me.