Myopia

MYOPIA
( I wasn't THAT grateful! I had a cataract operation shortly after I wrote this!)

I stand on the balcony at night;
A moonlit night of a billion stars.

All things are crisp, outlined,
Solid and picturesque, neat and orderly;
Everything in its appointed place.
Houses, trees, pathways and the horizon beyond
Cut out in cardboard.
I am entranced.
Such beauty!

Suddenly a moth invades my hair!
I flurry my hand across my face!
My glasses fly off the balcony, to be lost in shrubs below!
I am, for a second, bewildered, disoriented,
Enmeshed in white light.
I cannot see!
Then, magically, I see!

My eyes become accustomed to glory.
I am a swimmer
Swimming through pale swathes of liquid luminosity.
Each star is a huge white chrysanthemum.
The multitudes fudge and fuzz and seem to fuse.

Below me, pale green billows
Disappear into the mist, dancing.
My eyes widen; my fingers splay with longing.
I feel bleached, like a skull.
Tendrils of hair are silvered against the immensity of sky,
So close that I can see them clearly.

I am drawn up
Toward the puff ball cloudiness of a new moon,
That is, indeed, a brand new moon,
One never seen before by these eyes.
Limpid lispings of light spiral down to me.
The light is like white wine, spilling over my face;
Sweet, exotic, tasting of starlight.

And I say a heathen prayer of gratitude
To that obscure goddess, Myopia.
She of the semi-sight has given me a vision.
*

2. My Midriff!

Day two and I'm in reflective mood. In my youth I yearned for perfection. As you can see, I never achieved it! But now, in my old age, I can rejoice at Life's delicious little bonuses. The little triumph of which I write, here, is a secret pleasure!

MY MIDRIFF

I'll never have a mottled midriff.

My diaphragm is white as snow.

For I never wore a brief bikini

In the days of long ago.

There were huzzies who displayed their glory

With a little strip of this or that.

Whose bosoms were all small and cheeky

And whose stomachs were completely flat.

How I envied them their long tanned bodies,

As they glistened and they baked and boiled!

While admiring men hovered round them

Making certain that each limb was oiled.

Every one of them was so appealing.

Their bikinis were so ......... almost-there,

And the sun shone down on every midriff

As it showed itself all taut and bare.

And their midriffs glowed a honey colour

With a healthy, oh so sexy shine.

While one unhappy little midriff

Was covered and that was mine!

I could say I was shy and modest,

I could say that my thoughts were pure,

I could say I was saving my beauty

For a love that would endure.

I could say that I wasn't jealous

I could say that I didn't care.

I could say when they bared their midriffs

That I didn't turn a hair!

But, would you believe my story?

Or would you merely snort,

Knowing that I was freckly

And plumpish and dull and short.

How I longed to be oiled and worshipped!

How I yearned to be tanned and lean,

But my midriff was rather flabby

Not the sort that should be seen!

So I wore a neat little one-piece,

Shirr-elastic was the craze.

And I kept my podge of a midriff

Away from the public gaze.

Now I see them when I'm out shopping,

Those goddesses of the past,

And I realise godess status

Isn't designed to last.

I can't see beneath their jumpers

Or their track-suits or their frocks

But I bet their glorious midriffs

Have taken some hard knocks.

I bet they're looking wrinkled

And mottled and past their best.

I bet they're secretly happy

That they're not displayed undressed!

The bathroom mirror reveals mine

Still a vague sort of untanned beige.

But I realise I was saving it

To enjoy in my old age!

It is Perfect, just like alabaster,

Still flabby but smoothly designed,

A little bit creased and dimpled

But innocent, young and unlined.

Whereas theirs are all freckled and wrinkly,

All mottled, a sun-scarred disgrace.........
If only I'd worn my swimsuit

Pulled right up over my face!