Floater
My eye produced a floater
And although it felt quite weird,
It wasn’t quite as dangerous
As I, at first, had feared.
The vitreous inside the eye
(A jelly-seeming goop)
Becomes, as we grow older,
Less like Jello, more like soup.
Then little teeny fibers
Clump together in your eye,
Casting shadows on the retina
As they go drifting by.
A floater’s shape can vary
So it’s no surprise that mine
Resembled, like a pencil stroke,
A skinny curvy line.
It danced across my vision
From the left side to the right,
Interfering with my reading
And imbuing me with fright.
Though the doctor called it normal,
For it happens as we age,
I don’t need a new reminder
That I’m at that later stage.
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