The volume's leaves lie scattered like the trash
A football crowd leaves in its filthy wake.
You spot one photo down there. You. That gnash
Of teeth shows you were angry as a snake,
With cheeks death-white, wide eyes red from the flash -
While just behind you, watching as you shake
With fury, doing everything he can
To stop from grinning, is a wizened man.

You stamp with loathing on his pictured stare -
Then slowly all your blushing hackles rise.
Who's watching now? A TV, bed and chair
Confront you when you turn; no human eyes.
Look up though, to the corner - you'll see there
What shouldn't really cause a huge surprise.
A video lens records your every deed.
You make your exit with all decent speed.

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