I left my eye on top of the sideboard.
It had no complaints. It wanted a
breather. It wanted to flip out, flop
free, cut loose from the grip of my
co-dependent lashes, my socket’s
strictures and crap about keeping
up appearances. Screw all that! it
breathed, basking on tissue paper.
If it were a dog it might have rolled
over, but it didn’t bother. Blissed
out in that posture. Disposed to not
take in what was on offer:
wonky mirror, ceiling crack,
portion of a picnic by Cezanne.
[Inspired by “Still life with a lobster” by Joris van Son and Still life of a bowl of wild strawberries with the sugar loaf]