Monday, November 16, 2015

Eyeglass Repair Kit

The screw twisted free of its threaded cell
bounced off the macadam, landed somewhere,
I got down on my hands and knees, feeling around
for that brass speck, that crumb of gold

Warm plastic soda caps, petals of glass, 
metal ribbons curled up on the cement,
stars plastered like wet leaves against the asphalt
of the sky, orange traffic cones, parking lot lights,
stop signs bent in half, you filled your hand,
filled your mouth, got interrupted, spit it out,
it never happened

The bent coat hanger antenna, the radio dial, the vinyl seats
with their deep grooves
Gold wedding band dropped, the words engraved on the inside
disappearing when it gets melted down
I couldn't find that little tube containing
that skinny screwdriver, those spare screws,
those tiny tools

and then the lens popped
escaped from its frame, flipped through the air
to click against the concrete, where it acquired
a scratch the size of an eyelash
you couldn't see around
Origami eyes folded and unfolded, gaze shuffled
like a pack of cards. The world rippled past
in a watery blur. Silkworms and silverfish,
spiders and centipedes, all the little
darting floaters, water striders, and then
I had it, plucked from the gravel,
the screw safe at last
enfolded deep in the sweaty heart line of my palm.

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