Glasses

Glasses

The lenses bend so gently
it’s like wearing water. Like when
you were a kid and your brother
put his face in the fountain
to hunt pennies and came up
shrieking stars! At parties
my friends are disappointed
they can still see each other
when they steal them off
my face, hoping, I guess,
for some kind of blurred magic.
Mostly, they pass unnoticed:
the faintly smudged
window I see through.
Only when the sun streaks
and stays or sharp neon
sizzles their rims
do I remember I am hiding
in plain sight.  At night
I set them aside to rest,
their arms akimbo
like mine.

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