The speaker addresses someone close to them, apologizing in a plain, almost bureaucratic voice. A child, described as "our youngest, cruellest," scratched this person's eye, and the injury keeps flaring up, scabbing and weeping as if it were holding a grudge. The speaker is sorry about that, then glad that treatment has helped enough for the person to spot a bald eagle at a street corner. But the next line pulls back: the eyesight is "still wanting."
The last two lines change everything. "I was that bald eagle" suggests the speaker was the thing being seen, or perhaps failed to be seen properly. Judging by the repeated location, the poem lingers on that moment of looking and not quite recognizing. The mood is quiet, tender and a little rueful, with a dry strangeness running underneath. The odd title adds to that feeling of something practical gone slightly off. The poem leaves us unsure whether the speaker is joking, grieving, or both.