Coca-Cola Clock

At 14:35, on a Sunday halfway the 20th 

century, Harold Feinstein captured a group

of New Yorkers behind the railing of a 

beachfront boardwalk on Coney Island. 

Among them is a young couple at ease with

each other - he stands against a cast iron post,

his foot on the lowest bar, one hand resting

on the banister, the other holding a cigarette;

in the hollow of his arm she leans against him.

She has taken off her jacket and the wind

has somewhat undone her water wave curls.

Her long pants, her saddle shoes and her face 

are emblems of her day, while a US Airforce

uniform and its slightly tilted garrison cap 

embellish his stature of care and protection,

making him look elegant as well as manly. 

It is the only image that we have, but somehow 

it convinces me that what they shared, lasted 

till the millennium or even longer; it spurs my

curiosity for the rest of their pictorial history

that gradually unfurls its family colours in two

or three albums with thick pages separated

by transparent sheets; I imagine there is one 

of her in soft focus, one with cadets of his

training class, their first car, seaside trips,

graduation portraits of their kids and more that,

together, is as archetypal, iconic and American

as this single one that holds them both.