How I Broke My Eyeglasses: The Poem

I walked into a door and broke my eyeglasses.
Then I wrote a poem about it.

This is that poem.

Only I thought that just three lines might be kind of cheap for a poem, so I added a fourth.

Which
Was prosy, looking at it,
So I thought,
Maybe
I should use shorter lines
and
they could
Dance around the page
a bit
because poems do that.

But who really cares about my eyeglasses
Anyway? They should be a metaphor for something,
Like life. Or Afghanistan.

No, you know, the way life just kind of happens to you,
Before you're ready, and goes off in directions
That don't make a lot of sense until you look back.

Like eyeglasses.

I didn't say it was a good metaphor.
In any case you can't have a metaphor
If you tell someone that you're going to have a metaphor;
The magician doesn't show you his trap door
Before he makes the lady disappear.

It occurs to me that real magicians
Never reveal their secrets
Because they don't have any;
Only frauds have stories to tell.

I mean, if I were going to write a poem about life,
Or god forbid about poetry,
Wouldn't I just do it?