[Jim Hayes]

Transparent

Your vision is a blur, it's true
you raise one finger and see two,
when neighbours' kids call you Magoo;
before you find your specs.

The one-eyed king supplanted then,
it’s you’re the boss, in charge again,
though careful she’s not looking when
you ogle the other sex.

And in your job you can by dint
of luck, a neck as hard as flint,
and mastery of finer print,
command a penthouse view.

You have an eye, there is no doubt,
for earning money, wielding clout.
You see through me perched on your snout;
and I see right through you.