Lenses Poem by Gregory Huyette

Straining through spectacles, it’s usually difficult to see
Where subordinate clauses and dangling participles might be.

Armed with contact lenses: one distance, the other for reading
Overcomes a family tree’s seeming lack of visual breeding.

There’s the surgeon’s knife with its magical, momentary slice
That restores an optical world like those of sugar and spice.

Whether operation or not, the most precious lenses one finds
Are those that never suffer the distortions of tormented minds.