Poem With Plurals and Mixed Metaphors

Simple-dressed men taking family photos
with basic, square digital cameras that they can't
operate,
gaping at the crisp review screens with eyes that are
of the highest professional grade,

stuck in their faces,
slick with potency,

spinning like novelties,
like compasses lost at the poles:
untrained,
unable to get their optical dogs
to drop what they fetch,
so it's all wagging stubbornly at the edges of their grasp
in the brown-orange late sunset deep in its summer