Automatic
We never think of how we breathe
Unless we’re stuck with asthma;
And who wastes thoughts on blood, unless
We’re weak and needing plasma?
We use our eyes to focus
‘Til we suddenly can’t see;
And run for tennis balls until
There’s pain inside the knee.
If things are fine, our bodies
Let us run on automatic,
But unexpected changes may make
Life a bit traumatic.
And so we switch to manual
And contemplate each move,
Until we get the hang of things
And settle in a groove.
For when our gears begin to go
We must accept the fact
That no one gets through life with all
Their body parts intact.
Copyright © Ilene Bauer | Year Posted 2013
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