I appear in a selfie taken
by a 50-something woman with
a Hawaiian-style backpack
and her turquoise T-shirt’d fella
as we stand in line,
waiting to board the plane.

She holds up her phone,
takes a photo, and in the small screen
I can see my face between them,
on their way to Israel, I overhear.

I want to ask her for a copy.
It’s rare that you get to catch
yourself in the act of an accidental
photo bombing, becoming part
of a stranger’s memory.

I wonder if they or the ones
who receive their portrait
will admire the couple en route
to adventure, then wonder,

Who is that smiling woman
with the glasses behind them?
What’s her story?