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# Photo
- URL: https://dianaludwick.com/photo/
- Published: 2026-03-02T19:07:39.000Z
- Updated: 2026-10-24T20:11:13.000Z
- Description: “Photo,” a rant-poem on the inexplicably awful photographic conditions of government-approved portraiture, written March 2, poem 061 in a series of 365 poems written by Diana Ludwick in 2026. Photograph: Manufactured Disaster: A Passport Photo, by Diana Ludwick (c) 2026.
- Author: Diana Ludwick
- Tags: 2026 Poetry Challenge, Humor, Poems, Rants, Aging, ID photos, Indignities, Makeup, March, Passport, Petty, Photographs, Self Image, Women, #Migrated-1792872215677, #wp, #wp-post, #Import 2026-10-24 20:03

At home I gaze in mirror, ready myself:  
Straighten my part, crunch the gel out  
awaken my curls, beckon in my waves  
with gloss until they shine and swirl.  
  
I moisten my under eyes with hyaluronics  
I slide exquisite serum on forehead, jaw  
Pat creamy pricey day potion up and  
onto face and neck in gentle circles.  
  
Gently swipe on bronzer, then blush  
Tap highlighter powder onto my cheeks  
Apply Revitalash brow conditioner  
and brow gel to coordinate my follicles.  
  
Faithfully replicate the latest  
TikTok via Instagram-approved  
layered shadow and crease application  
technique created for “mature eyes.”  
  
Pick a delicate rope chain in gold  
Pair with demure yellow hoop earrings  
Press lips together, spread creamy rouge   
End with tubing mascara; OK, enough!   
  
Enter Photo Corner at the local store  
Say I need a Passport Photo, two-by-two.  
She looks up, pulls down cream backdrop  
and assesses without filter, “Too tall! *Sit*.”   
  
She points at a metal step stool 15” high  
I squat to tiny bench, knees splay wide  
I look like a denim-sheathed poison frog  
I brush it off to stay calm — and dazzling.  
  
Through lens, she frowns “No, straight!"  
“Take those hoops off, hide that chain”  
“You can't smile, stop it. Don’t look up.”  
“Need to take it again, you fumbled it.”   
  
Nice little pep chat, really, to raise my ego.  
She sighs loudly; clicks off point and shoot  
“Meet me at the counter” so I do, card out.  
"$19.49" she states; I wave chip — *zing*.  
  
So then she hands me an envelope   
She stares at me, briefly; breaks away:  
“I did the best I could, with the *material*.”   
She means me. She huffs, crosses arms.   
  
Nervous of the results, I wait 'til outside  
slide the snaps out and... *Jump scare!*  
Met with a fugitive's snarl, Killer Vibes  
brooding brows, threatening eyes.  
  
An overactive imagination fills in the rest:   
My joyless image in the upper right corner   
of a newscaster's *Breaking News Update*  
“She’s on the run, extremely dangerous!”   
  
What is it exactly, that unites all ID photogs  
in the art of capturing people as cadavers  
or n'er-do-wells despite all the love   
we put in to prepare in advance?  
  
Again, here it is, yet another debacle  
for a seventh time in a row it feels.  
I hold in my hand the crime I paid for:  
a hit job of a pic, now mine for a decade.