My mothers eyes were brown
My father's eyes were blue
She wanted novelty
Not like the ones she knew
For my sight test he looked
Into my two blue eyes
I hoped I'd get all clear
And he'd see no surprise
My father did not need
To test a patient's sight
When whey walked in, he guessed
Never wrong, always right
When a young man walked in
His problem was long sight
Then a man, middle-aged
His complaint was short sight
Only once he was wrong
When a youngish mother
Had one eye different
From the perfect other
'I've got floaters,' I said
'Can you help? Make a note,'
He said, 'I'm sorry, dear,
There's no safe antidote
'At your age they're common
No proven cure is known
Don't worry, it's just life
Frankly, leave well alone.'
He's been gone many years
I still have our blue eyes
My son, too, has blue eyes
Grand-daughter, quel surprise!
Dad said, study optics
Not me, that was his dream
I'm a mother, like my mum
His blue eyes are still seen.
-ends
This is a revision of a poem which was in Poetry Workshop Workbook Lulu ID 2228624
This version is in
https://comicpoetrybylansbury.blogspot.com/2023/02/the-eyes-of-my-father-optician-by.html
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My father, Albert, right, Netta, left on their wedding day.
I read the earlier version of the poem from the book on Sunday February 19th 2023 on Zoom on Facebook live, poetry open mic, theme women, for the group The Fertile Brains.
