Some dreamily smoke cigarettes, some track

Some dreamily smoke cigarettes, some track toddlers who walk like drunks. Buzzy, the picnic grounds, noisy, sun-crazed, how forks and spoons don’t exactly lie flat. A mountain’s here, a famous overlook from which you’d see none of this. Like that first daguerreotype, its moving carriages and those who strolled never picked up in the long exposure, a Paris street emptied by the camera, only houses and lamp posts gone eternal. Or the one who stopped for a shoe shine, the one who knelt to the task. At the picnic—a commotion. A large man to a younger man.