A Loss of Vision
As we grow older we grow honester,
that's something.
-Yevtushenko, “Zima Junction”
I drove a friend to his ophthalmologist
When I walked him into the office
He could perceive only light and shadow
After we left, some four hours later
He could read the fine print on his McDonald's coffee cup
Miracle. Laser surgery. Miracle.
The McDonald's was our third place to try
For coffee; the first two chains were empty and wrecked
Lake Charles is still a mess after hurricane-curses
This summer, with wreckage everywhere, street signs gone
Houses blasted and empty, shops blasted and empty
Work crews along some streets, silence along others
Dear Leader never bothered to notice
The new Dear Leader won't bother to notice
They send our children overseas to bomb people
And build them new infrastructure and then
Bomb everything again
We are trying to be good Americans
Our golf-course presidents and
Keyboard-kommando generalissimos
And feeble Merovingian Congress
Fist-bump each other
Only my friend has his vision again
A poem is itself.
