Darby Lyons


The doctor tells me         to avoid bar fights
roller coasters         and whiplash.
I assure her         I can easily avoid
            two of three         decrease my odds
of further damage.         She calls        what happened        
            posterior vitreous detachment.         I understand        
two of three words        and I look up        the other        
            laugh at the cliché         how tired
the metaphor         it’s about aging         shrinking
            pulling away.         My doctor        who might be
all of twenty-eight         hardly smiles        
            when I point out         the irony         of avoiding risk
to prevent         further detachment.        
            She tells me I should         let her know
if these things happen –        more dark floating shapes        
            brief flashes of light         or something like

a curtain closing.

I tell the doctor        only two         of those three
            horrify me.         Again she hardly smiles
And I can’t help         but laugh.

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