It is the curse of the modern day

autograph hunter, not content

with waiting come rain or shine

or hanging around in the darkness

waiting for the object of their affection,

pen at the ready, checked twice,

ink bleeding in anticipation

and growing hot under the pulse

of the sweaty palm;

not content with this

or even the chance of a photograph

that will adorn their wall,

the bed side fondle of the Kodak

captured moment as they stroke

the thin memory

till it blurs and fades through exposure