Eye Meditate

Trying to meditate

while we wait,

sardines packed straight

at the eye clinic station

My nerve ends hum

with others' emotions

I breathe in fear

and breathe out tension.

Conversations

start, and stall

desultorily

Veterans meet

and greet

ostentatiously,

"Doris! Over 'ere!"

"Audrey! It's you!

What're you doin' 'ere?"

"Same's you, I expect.

Me eyes, but,

Fancy meetin' you 'ere."

Daylight melts

to a grim fluorescence.

Names are called,

pupils dilate.

We wait.

I continue

to try

to meditate.

This piece is dedicated to Keith Martin, my surgeon, my hero. When my name was finally called and while Keith gazed suspiciously into my foggy dyed eyes, he tossed a small nugget of joy across the tonometer... "I've been reading your prolific blog and I'm impressed." Woo hoo!!!! If only it were de rigeur to fist bump your eminent surgeon. Instead I settle for a demure, "Well, so long as you weren't bored"... while inside I am all glee. Le fruit de la meditation, peut-etre?