Playing With House Money Poem by Kim Doyle

“He had the one thousand-yard stare, ”
one EMT said to the other. Sharing
their hard gained expertise
on the nearly dead.

I had seen that same stare in the eyes
of photos of combat-hardened
soldiers from the endless litany
of American wars.

So my eyes had hollowed
out, as well. Pupils dilated to
their maximum width; eyes all color,
attentive to a point way beyond seeing.

They worked on me without pause,
bringing me back to the land of sight.