The morning of my eye surgery,/
another memory/
and her thumbnail moon, shiny,
again greeted me./
Never more with glasses to be./
I’d soon see/
Clearly,/
Near perfectly./
But she/
Won’t and wouldn’t see/
Me./
As I drove toward the city,/
and the facility/
where doctors waited patienty,/
Ironically,/
I couldn’t focus.