where are they,
hanging on the bridge
of my nose.
or another place of repose
placed or misplaced
I need them to disclose,
the print on the page
to focus and read to me,
blurs and patches
they are helpful,
but not for understanding.
no matter how long I peer and squint,
no glint of meaning, will apear,
just graphics and alphabet letters
line after line one above the other
after use of an hour or so,
red eyes, tears,
with a look of conjunctivitis
stare and glare
till I come back to my self
disposition distressed, displaced
I push these aids above my orbs
sit on my forhead, forgetting,
where did I put my glasses
a spectacle sometimes affectatious
alas I really do misplace them too often
or is it old age in limbo
creeping up from behind
shimon weinroth
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/eye-glasses-my-spectacles/
