I need them for distance

The case that holds them has seen too much:
it is battered and scarred and weathered and world-weary
Inside, protected by their resilient guardian, the glasses reflect the light,
delicate and transient, as you pull them out in order to see
(Careful, the truth is breakable…)

You don't need them, you know, the insulting appendage
Why broadcast to the world that you are blind?
You have choices: you can squint and you can cover one eye,
blink, blame the print or the person for being too small
or you can surrender: put them on, you can glare venerably
down through the lenses, you can peek surreptitiously over top
of the frames
Or you can just choose to look and not to see
And you can believe what you want to believe,
if you can see only what you want to see.
(Careful with truth. It is bendable.)

Behind cold, frosted lenses your gaze is perfect, surgical
So when a woman comes into your frame of vision,
caught like a photograph, captured on film, in sight
(such scary thoughts…)
You can see the distracted expression on her face,
the sadness behind the smile,
the things you wouldn't make out from far away
She has antidepressants wrapped in tissues in her purse,
you know.
She's known her husband has been having an affair
for three months, you see.
you see too much. suddenly. responsibility. damn.
so you choose to be blind.
you slide the lenses, the frames, so small and so fragile,
so surprising, into their (your?) protective prison
"Objects in mirror are closer than they appear…"
your car, the sage, reminds you as you pull away
Because for a moment she was just too close
(Careful with truth. We are breakable…)