The hypnotist said, confident for once
In his craft, “blink once for yes,
Blink twice for no.”
The optometrist, lodged like a half-dissolved mint
On his own exam chair,
Blinked twice.
“Alrighty then,” the hypnotist said;
“why not just say something rather than
Playing along?” The optometrist, still blinking—
A gnat had torpedoed his eyes—
Said, “I forgot we weren’t playing
Simon Says.”
“In that case,” said the hypnotist, “you doubly fail:
You failed to hypnotize and
Simon never said.” “No,
You failed,” responded the optometrist,
“The chart says none of that.”
“To be perfectly clear,” said the hypnotist,
“You are indeed the loser. You see, I’m Tiresias”
(Lifting a breast as in confirmation)
“And my eyes scroll a different chart,
A view your phoropter’s denied.
Your chart’s written in vanishing
Ink, characters twisted from hair and bone.
My chart says you’re damned to the labyrinth
Of this strip mall hell. Collect your paycheck
And die.”  

The optometrist looked in the mirror,
Face sagged in wrinkles too twisted to map.
A voice came from the doorway:
“Remember the Gregors’ son is scheduled For noon.”
And he sscrolled the phoropter
Through its confusion of views.