Closed Circuit
Sat on the top deck, smokers smoking,
my father blows growing rings.
Signs above jammed windows read:
“For your safety CCTV is in operation.”
The shutter clicks on my empty plastic
camera. Pointing it at the narrow sands
of Colwyn Bay, I imagine I can store
moments on the invisible loop of film.
When I’m allowed to use my father’s
camera he crouches behind me,
shows me how to twist focus, to set
lightning. Often I forget to wind the film.
We look at a simple electronics kit,
silver solder, silicon semiconductors,
resistors control current, capacitors store
charge, concealed under a circuit diagram.
Left to create my own devices, no more
am I pictured on my father’s knee when
we attend weddings, christenings, funerals.
His camera sometimes stays silent.
Now, in pedestrianised zones I’m caught
in low resolution, followed by the whir
of little motors. Circuits concealed, swivelling
heads watching, like owls, with nightvision.
© Matthew Joseph Johnson, 2009
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