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Out of Focus
She would wake up at my place in the morning
And she wouldn’t remember where she was right away
Or where she left her eyeglasses
So she’d squint hard;
Her eyebrows two great exclamation points,
Her hair marvelously askew
As she sat up in bed,
Trying to focus on the fuzzy out of focus ME beside her
Seeing me but not as I am if in focus
Which is interesting
Because I never did see her in focus
Even though my eyes worked fine
If you got close up.
Now she wakes up every day without me
And knows just where she is
And on what flat surface her eyeglasses wait for her.
I wonder what else she sees now
And if the visual clarity has improved.
I don’t wonder what I ever saw in her,
I just wonder about all the things
I couldn’t see
All the things I wouldn’t.
John Tustin’s poetry has appeared in many disparate literary journals in the last dozen years. fritzware.com/johntustinpoetry contains links to his published poetry online.