Tunnel Vision

    by Kathryn Jacobs    
 
 
“Okay, you scare me: put your shades back on.
You’ve heard of ‘tunnel vision?’ Look, I’ve stared
tornadoes in the eye; I face down glares
the way your friends face toothpaste. Petulant?
It's all performance; anger brushes off
like chalk-dust from a teacher. Heavy looks,
a gaze that doesn't focus, narrow slits
like sewing-needle stares? By all means try.
But just to warn you – I was married once.
So I’m inoculated; I’ll survive. 
 
Those holes, though. Something vandals might have left,
with retina like drill shot. Flashlight, please!
Deep sockets; must go somewhere. Surgical,
they look so tidy – eyes like coconuts
with tapped-out soft spots. You lobotomized
yourself with pencils, maybe? Turn around,
I'll check the back for leaks.”
    
                                            Thank god, he’s gone.
These excavated types are prone to clump,
like slugs or anthills. Spooky looking eyes.
Could use a sense of humor, too. A shame –
since otherwise, he wouldn’t be half bad.
Might grab a heavy candlestick, in case
the man comes back (knock wood). Though as I say,
 
he’s not half bad in glasses.