wheelhouse archive

Issue 6, Spring/Summer 2008


Sight For Sore Eyes by M. Bartley Seigel


I’ve got you in my eye beams. Picturing you
in my mind’s eye. Spying with my little eye.

I spy pink eye, weak eye, cross eye, stink eye.
I spy the evil eye. Let me look you in the eye.

Let me kiss your eyelid, lick your eyeball.
Let me taste your eye candy, eat your eye bright.

Let me put you in my eye cup, drink you up.
Feast for the eyes—that’s you, eye catcher.

Eye contact. I can’t take my eyes off you.
You’re an eye filler. You’re an eyeful,

a real eye popper. Looking through this eyehole,
this business of opening the eyes is an eye opener.

Seeing with both eyes open, eyes left, eyes right,
eyes peeled for the eye of the needle in the haystack,

the straw that breaks the camels back. On eyelashes,
this business of making wishes, of keeping one eye

to the advantage while the other eye stays on the prize.
This business of eye for an eye, it’s enough to give a guy

eye strain. It gives eyesores, gouges eyes from eye sockets. 
I’d give my eyeteeth, bright eyes, for another way out.