“The Photobomber”

The guy and the girl
entered the hotel lobby
and sat in the next table.
He was Korean
and she was Filipina.

He wore
a black leather jacket
and she a satin dress.
They were evidently
very happy

although the girl
tried to subdue her joy
with great self-composure.
The guy helped her
to her seat and

like a true gentleman —
extremely rare nowadays —
removed his jacket
and covered the girl’s shoulders with it.
My wife gave me a look.

This must be
one of their very first dates.
They ordered their drinks
and as soon as the waitress went away
they became the only persons

inside the room.
They talked in a language
that transcended their nationalities
and therefore no word or gesture
was lost in translation.

My wife left for the bathroom
and I became the lone witness
to the rapidly developing love story.
And what love story is complete
without photography?

So they called the waitress over
and handed her their phone.
But to my horror, I realized that
I was sitting squarely at the center
of the photographer’s field of vision.

My destiny then was sealed:
I was to be the mysterious photobomber
of their most cherished picture.
So, embracing my role wholeheartedly,
I straightened my back,

tucked in my belly,
lifted the glass to my lips
and as best as I possibly could
made the most posterity-worthy
candid pose of my life.

6 thoughts on ““The Photobomber”

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