In the eyes of my long-ago ex-lover I’m forever thin, supple, naked
and always moving gracefully in her bed.
To my doctor I’m an overweight, graying patient with arthritic knees.
To the bitchy landlady downstairs,
I’m a dancing elephant who can’t be evicted.
To my growing son I’m still next to Superman,
though daily he measures his height against my shoulders.
To my boss I’m x man-hours per unit cost.
To my friends I’m, ”hey, good buddy, let’s have a beer.”
I’m a virtual image in a kaleidoscope of eyes.
I’m that fuzzy i on the bottom of the eye chart.
Doc, fit me with Value-Rite bargain glasses with sharp enough focus
to keep me from walking with a blind man’s cane
but not enough to see my own reflection too clearly
