Cataract

It starts as a shade in the corner of his eye

The man shakes it off

Pretends it’s nothing

After giving it a thought

He names it as men tend to do and his name is true

But he doesn't yet realize it

So he wipes the tables and moves along

Not paying any heed to the blur in his sight

The man shakes it off

Pretends it's nothing

Stayed up too late the night before

Just doing what he's told to make a buck

And he sets up the tables and moves along

Not giving one inch to why it's eleven at dawn

The man shakes it off

Pretends it's nothing

That he could read eight font at three meters off

Now he can barely read a menu beyond arm's length

He wonders what's going on

What's happening to him

How things changed from bold to bland

What was a full color print is now in grayscale

When his vision used to be so hale

Now the world is nothing but pale

As he throws out the envelopes from the post

A one year pin once again

A badge of honor as some may see it--except for him

The centennial celebration of disrespect

Black shoes, black pants, white shirt, pin

A centennial celebration of syndication

And now in a Mad Max world of his own rendering

Everything is cool, everything minute

As his orbs mask in a balmy noon--milky and white

And the man shrugs it off

Pretends it's nothing

Roots are set yet progress is abandoned

For a path of least destruction

No bets are placed and so the house always wins

Nothing is sought so ancient relics remain unfound

Left behind in the dusts of time

The same fine grit that made the man blind.

--As the man shrugs it off

And pretends it's nothing.