Steven L. Buchanan-Unfinished Roll

In your camera, the film remains.
I noticed it was black and white.
Damn car exploded your brains
while your camera was all right.

The last of you is in that roll,
in your damn EOS 50D Cannon.
That car went out of control
and killed Steven L. Buchanan.

The lady driving, Star-bucks in hand,
didn't notice the light had turned red.
Steven, left with no place to stand,
for her blue Saleen S7 left him dead.

The last shots were taken by me.
I just clicked until the roll stopped.
I picked up the prints at about 3,
then down in car seat I plopped.

City walls, and concrete slabs,
then children in the park.
A fallen child, left with scabs,
a girl with eyes so dark.

Your mother smiling while cooking,
me on your bed, I had fallen asleep.
Your father with a book, not looking,
and one of the gold cross you keep.

I flipped through the images so clear.
The best was the nun by far.
The worst picture's the one I fear,
it's of the damn Saleen car.

Distorted and blurred, the angle was odd.
I could tell it was taken by mistake.
Fifteen minutes after, arrived the squad,
but they knew, no chance of wake.

He photographed life, simple prints.
Nothing too complex to view.
Little did we know, they were hints,
of a life that we each knew.