1. Call it the blessing
of willful blindness.
We might as well
tag each baby's head
on the way out:
to sharpen
first narrow.
And what can focus the mind
like a tombstone? At least
until you drop the forget-
me-nots and remember
the cosmic definition of topsoil:
a series of unmarked graves.
2. "Simply put," the doctor said,
"it is the concentration of fluid
in the eyeball, whereby it bursts
under its own pressure.
The nearsighted are especially
at risk."
Eyes dilated, I stumbled
into the parking lot
toward my car. Across the highway
I saw a flatbed of old Volkswagens
crumpled like a Nazi's idea
of a layer cake.
I remember thinking they weren't
called concentration camps
for nothing.
3. The local radio station will give
a hundred bucks to any listener
who can speak for thirty seconds
on a surprise topic
without stopping. It takes
concentration
for money to change hands.
In three years nothing
has been said
worth repeating
that I can recall, concentrate
as I might.
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