Sonnet CXCV

The hidden message of my spectacles
reveal themselves when suddenly they break:
when fragile arms are snapped when lightly pulled,
when during cleaning, lenses fly and break,
when nose pads slip, escaping to the lull
of irretrievability, to stay.

And subsequently, breaking them unfolds
a glasses’ strange enigma, like a cat
awakening from slumber large and fat,
to show us just how frail he is – and old.

Thus parts appeared before my eyes like gold:
the nose pads, arms, a lens, and parts like that.
They screamed their frantic memo when I sat
on pairs of them – “Please fix me now!” was told.