No Farther

Crowds line the counter.
Envelopes fill with new work to be done.
Ribbons of film sway from little teeth—
and the machine beeps again.
I am the only one in the blue vest
with its crisp white letters on the back.
It is a bull's eye.
And I am the target.

Shots fire.

Pick up film? Last name? Dropped off when? What time?
One hour? Send-out? Have your ticket?
Whew. Close one.

Last name? Have your ticket? One hour? Just a sec.
Another zings past my ear.

Passport photo? Just a sec.
They’re getting closer…

Pay here, sir. Your change and receipt. Need a bag?
I have to duck!

Need a camera? Just a sec.
It’s too late!

One hour? Dropping off? Fill this out.
Relief from the rounds.

"Is there someone else working
who can help you with this line?”
The hunt is on.

A man hands me three pictures.
“Can I pay here?”
I cannot sell you these, sir.
They are copyrighted.
"Then who can I speak to that will?
I want your manager!”
His breath leaves his mouth
like the smoke of a gun
and I feel weak.
I should have known
I couldn’t handle it.

As I retreat from the counter,
I remember God’s promise:
“Do not fear.
You are more precious than gold.
I AM your shield.
You will not fail.”
I look up at the front
as another blue vest appears
in the crowd.

originally written Spring 2005