When they told me to cover one eye, I did.
The world went left-black then right-black.
I waded through their forest lenses
choosing between consecutive numbers,
my mind encumbered with the haze
of distorted perception and the fog
of urban pop music,
so soothing after the honky-tonk
drawl of country music blasted
en masse over gas station speakers
They told me I could see perfectly.
I was covered and cured.
I should have known something was up.
Everyone knows you actually see fifty-fifty
with balanced eyes.
They assured me the insurance covered it.
So I went ahead
and got blindsided
by the ophthalmologist.