Colm Clery

Object writing: Glasses

1 min readSep 23, 2017

Popped precariously atop my nose, my glasses were my companion as I walked. New York always looked lovely through my thick lenses, especially so in September, when autumn leaves floated in puddles, curling like the cute side smile she leaves me each morning. An old jazz standard plays, echoing around the strong tree trunks. I walked with a pip in my step, my feet a base drum, my hands a snare and hi-hat. I looked higher, watching, catching the light and watching it as it splits like a arrow through a grape, passing through the frames of my glasses.