What can I trade for my sight?
The man in the white coat stood standing
Crumpled notes from my pocket
Different numbers - fives, twenties, tens, then…
He wants a lot
I count in my head
I speak a total
He says “one lens”
I count again
My math is sound
He says “one lens”
And turns his back
This is meant to intimidate me
And enable me to produce more money
It doesn’t work, I look at my hands
My hands!
I take a step
And hold out my hand
My middle finger up
He can have that
He misunderstands
Looks indignant
Grabs my shoulder
Escorts me out
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