Glasses
The glasses
w/ those rectangular lenses,
they brought mathematics
to her eyes,
to the hump of her nose;
geometry to the crow’s feet,
the laugh lines.
She could immediately see
Einstein and Pythagoras
using her oval face as a chalkboard.
Working out theorems
formulas and proofs
that explained her.
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Sweet Addiction
Mister Eye, walking into the Disease Priest
Coffee Shop and Bakery “we make disease
sweeter and sweeter,” mutters one of the many priests,
carrying trays of diabetic delight, pouring cups
of coffee, stirring in lumps of sugar and gulps
of cream. Mister Eye says not a word, merely watches
the smearing of goo over lips, the waggling of tongues
like acrobatic octopi; “addiction is our bread and butter”
mutters the high priestess of tooth decay and amputation;
“blood sugars rise and blood sugars fall,” squeal a boy
and girl in training;
Mister Eye makes no eye contact,
instead orders the same cup of Joe: black, he has
had every morning since the invention of “sugar
sickness”. In the back room
one of the squealing trainees,
clutching a sugar cube,
is about to drop it in:
“don’t mess with that one,”
says the high priestess glumly.
“He’s a watcher, that one.”
Mister Eye inspects his cup,
while watching the ruination
of another batch of human beings,
like a tray of burnt Cinnabons tossed in the alley
and gobbled by the diabetic dogs of the neighborhood.
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