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I bought these glasses
with the sparse, few bills
earned by my sweat, by the strain on my wrists,
by long hours given to the desk.
I bought them with credit cards,
leasing my vision with my future.
And I am proud of them!
the lenses are featherweight plastic,
I do not want the world to see
the damage that books and CRT
did to my eyes, did to me.
Perhaps I act in vanity.
Frames as thin as a cat's slitted eye, light wire and glass,
transparent, professional, frames with class,
oh no, I spared no expense.

How can I look at you with these glasses?
I bought my vision dear,
with my own work, my own time,
and I bought them to disguise
my half-blind, bleary, fogged
by too much fantasy, escapist eyes,
lenses to hide, and to reveal, my eyes.

Last night, I looked at children's glasses--
thick brown frames, heavy plastic,
frames to throw away,
frames to last, at most, a year
and then outgrown
or else lost some soon and unexpected day,
like the ones I lost
at the bottom of the river,
or on a school lunch tray.
If I could find them,
In some black garbage bag from 1983,
These are the glasses I would need
to look at you,
the glasses of a child,
eyes that can still smile,
eyes that can play.



( 3 comments — Leave a comment )
Aug. 10th, 2003 05:04 pm (UTC)
Oof. I felt that one physically. Sad/yearning/bitter. Very, very interesting poem.

But of anyone I've ever met, you smile and play with the most energy... so, in this way, the poem doesn't seem to be first-person-Spotty.

Aug. 10th, 2003 05:12 pm (UTC)
Mostly an assumed voice, but I'm in an odd mood today :| I've kept myself emotionally young as best as I can, but I do miss what youth I've lost. Maybe it's just hindsight, everything kind of amber-haze with nostalgia.
Oct. 17th, 2004 06:03 pm (UTC)
It may be hard to tell, but this is one of the three or four love poems I've written. It's more satisfying to hide them behind curtains, though. Wrote that about a day after beginning a nightmare crush that ruled six months of my life.
( 3 comments — Leave a comment )

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