Stolen Things, part four

I found my Canon A1 in the local pawn shop,
the scratch on its frame a C shaped fingerprint.
I bought it back, took it home, inserted film—
but no matter where I aimed, when I clicked,
it returned photos of an apartment on Mission street,
men and boys drinking forties on flower print couches.
Oh, there was the occasional sentimental shot—
a German Shepherd in the sun. And the still life—
someone’s mom or cousin, with onions.