Roz Morris posted this writing prompt, really a blog hop and a challenge: To write about strangers who appear in a photo you've taken.
So I selected this picture at random, a side street in Rio, taken in January 2009. The picture is quintessentially Allen. I play with my camera and wait beside the small neighborhood floral shop as he consults Lonely Planet, his mapping skill gained from years of traveling, but one he now fears he can no longer do as well.
Behind him a couple strides determinedly. An older couple. Are they married? Are they Bazillian? Perhaps they are tourists, as we are, here for such a short time. Perhaps they are émigrés from Europe, for despite its pulsing samba beat and impossibly white sandy beaches(Ipanema, Cococabana, how these names linger), Rio has a decidedly European flavor. Brazilians drink espresso in small coffee shops with fresh, delicate sweet breads and stroll at all times along wide boulevards.
A couple strides past
my husband, lost in a guide book,
as anonymous as flowers in pots
lined up by the door of a small florist.
None of us notice the
raw pink vine flowers that blossom above.
The couple marches, arguing,
he has a lover,
she wants a divorce;
he cannot find his way.