The Juggler

So now I have this assignment

Why do I despair with my camera in hand

When I know I’m going to do

What I’m made to do?

This seems nothing new

To me

So I go there

Leaving work to go to work

And all I want is it to go right

My mind is the type of the perfectionist

Everything must go properly

There is no other way

So I go and introduce myself to the president of the club

And tell him why I’m there invading his and their privacy

To my astonishment (and not), they welcome me as if one of their own

How fine;

How perfect this is, I tell myself.

Then I begin shooting them

So as the hour goes by I learn things I never thought of before

Up and down the balls, hoops, and pins go

I frame them up, making a dream-like picture to put in the paper

Suspended in mid-air; frozen in time

I’m frozen in the perfect moment with them

This is what I’m made to do

So, of course, lost in ecstasy, the hour flies like a bird on the wing

I try myself to learn what is taught, but fail

I don’t mind because I have succeeded in doing what I do

I have yet again succeeded, in spite of myself;

This seems nothing new

To me