With heartfelt apologies to H. W. Longfellow

Excelsior, a poem written by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow in 1841, has long been the subject of parody and reinterpretation. Submitted for your perusal, my pinholish take:

RECTILINEAR

The sun was dipping in the West,

Gazing upwards, the light to test,

A man, a tripod in his hand,

Seeking vantage, as shadows fanned,

RECTILINEAR!

In his grasp, a brass and wood box;

The halves, now one, and interlocks.

Inside, the film, the ISO

One hundred, neither fast nor slow.

RECTILINEAR!

A satchel hung around his neck,

Swinging, thumping, impeding trek.

Bicycles, buses, cars rolled past,

The crosswalk clear, he moved at last.

RECTILINEAR!

“Spare change,” a grimy vagrant said,

Standing, blocking, eyes ringed with red.

A shrug and laugh, “I wish I could.

I must press on; the light's still good!”

RECTILINEAR!

“What is that thing?” a child cried,

buckled fast in her stroller ride.

“Photos it makes, with film. You know?”

The blank look clearly answered, “No.”

RECTILINEAR!

Emboidered badge: “The park is closed!”

The photog's thought: I think I'm hosed.

“I'll be real quick. Only one shot!”

I hope this works, the photog thought.

RECTILINEAR!

Unfolds the tripod; meters sky.

Composes landscape; aiming high.

A furtive glance eastward when he

Opens shutter; minutes twenty

RECTILINEAR!

Bearing down, diff'rent rent-a-cop

“What is that box? You need to stop!

You have to leave.” “I need more time!”

Defiant: “Pinhole is not a crime!”

RECTILINEAR!

Taking time, putting on a show,

He packs his kit, painfully slow,

A tapping shoe, the guard's arms crossed,

The shutter snaps, the shot's not lost!

RECTILINEAR!