Blind Man in the Corner Booth, by Karen Douglass
Posted on August 24, 2020
He fingers the napkin, the utensils,
condiments, plays the table like an organ,
wears dark glasses on top of his head
like anyone would. Organized
his closet so that he doesn’t go out
in plaid and checks. Anything
matches khaki pants. He uses
an electric razor, keep toiletries
in familiar places
so that he never fumbles, never
brushes his teeth with hand cream.
Here he is,
eating egg-drop soup
and beef with broccoli.
White rice is texture
and taste, not color or its absence.
He shows me how to see and be unseen.