Surveillance

I spotted it blinking, all green and bright,

from the edge of the lot, stillness in sight,

as cars danced past in their own silent race,

this watchful machine, with a mind and a place.

Cataloging moments, the laughter and cries,

recording our lives, the truth in disguise,

I wonder what stories it gathers and keeps,

in the dark of the night when the city sleeps.

Yet there’s something unsettling about this stare,

who’s watching whom? Does it even care?

A lens on my life, but it can’t understand

the weight of a memory, the warmth of a hand.