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.