My photographic obsession

I admit I'm no Bresson; neither do I yearn
to receive any acclaim other than a broad smile
in front of my mirror,

Yet, the appetite for artistry intensifies
with each single stroke of the shutter-bag.

In my stubborn quest for a brief moment of
enlightenment(or even serendipity), I've carefully
managed to overlook the odd ogles from strangers,
until the other day one gentle hand
tapped on my shoulder:

Sir, how much money do you make out
from your pictures?

Turning around, I noticed the speaker.
An average- witted-looking sickly boned fellow
adorned with a clichéd smile and somber outfit,
observing me with a good portion of interest.

With my usual fumble, I did my best to convey
that I have, in my two-year-long ascending passion
of creativity, never ever been troubled
by material obligations;

His smile vanished like thawing ice creams
in a hot summer evening,
and muttering unmentionables
he withdrew to his sordid former self

and vanished.

I realized, minutes later,

I had missed the 'face of the day'.