Mistaken Identity

Excuse me.
Do you have a moment
to help a blind man find
the restroom?

My wife is shopping
somewhere else
and she left me here,
alone,
because she needs shoes and
God knows how long that might take.
By that time, my bladder will rupture
or be infected
or just release its contents in my lap.

I know you wouldn’t want that.
I saw you with your mop and I figured
you must know where
I can find a urinal
(and I bet you also have
an aversion to puddles).

Please be specific, though.
I can’t exactly read the
writing on the wall.
Maybe you should
guide me there or something.
I want to be independent.
I’m working on it,
but, you know, it’s a
work-in-progress.
I just got the cane
not too long ago.
I’ll get better.
Anyway, I really have to go and–

Oh…

Who leaned a mop
against this mannequin?

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About semiblind

Bringing you stark existentialism since 1981.
This entry was posted in eyesight, poetry and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Mistaken Identity

  1. Judi Grewell says:

    Andrew you hit it out of the park. Loved the ending, so you.

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