Prescription Glasses

Prescription Glasses

Today, at the cost of growing smaller,
I developed the world like a Polaroid
until it was finally clear before me.
Blurry discounts of Walmart
visible, the weight
of plastic and glass––

paychecks––on my temples
and nose. The wait of the World
Market line, seeing every country,
ethnicity, as clear as they
have never seen me. My glasses––
windows for, not to, my eyes––

make me look older, don’t fit
my face properly. I miss
the haziness of my world
where the TV kaleidoscoped,
body hair morphed to skin tone
and there were no branches in my yard.