swollen eyelid

an eye is awry.

its lid hoods and occludes the iris

and tickles the lachrymal duct so that it weeps

and the tear-filmed pupil makes for blurrish vision

and the man who owns the eye

feels like quasimodo or someone

even more grotesque. he worries

that it may be a staph infection

or, worse, some flesh-eating parasite

chewing his head away.

..

he tries to dismiss such foolish thoughts

by reminding himself

of a lifetime of hypochondria

and the many oh-i’m-gonna-die episodes

that turned out to be laughably untrue.

..

a visit to urgent care

would be a resounding smack in the pocketbook

even if they don’t upsell him like the charming lady

doc who said “you have earwax. want me to

take care of it?” and that two-minute tune-up

cost forty additional out-of-pocket bucks.

..

he looks in the mirror and smiles

with the half of his mouth on the unaffected,

uninfected side.

tries to, anyway.

he wanted to make a comedy/tragedy mask

out of his single face but the other half of his mouth

insists on half-smiling too.

now he half-laughs at his melancholic vanity.

“That’s Life,” he murmurs,

and feels better.