Organs Poems (100 Words)
Images of various types of various organs, accompanied by 100-word text poems.
One is not enough the genes decree. Utterly
dependent on the diaphragm. Their job to
gobble up the unseen molecules of oxygen
that waft their way to alveoli where they
sieve through through a wall that opens
Sesame. And too, their job to harvest from
the blood the gassy poison that would
anesthetize the brain were it to fester in the
salty plasma spew. Almost light as air. More
than the heart, the altar for the breath of life
but cannot flaunt their role — they load the
hemoglobin cars that would stand still, the
cells would starve, without the pump.
Largest organ of them all yet only millimeters thick
—or thin, depending on the site or state of mind.
Water cannot penetrate but sunlight can, at least
enough to make the vitamin that gets the calcium
into the bone. And then there’s melanin—
polymerized oxidized tyrosine—three different
kinds—that give it color. How much better were
there none or only one. No Civil War. No, better
one, not none—for without it we’d burn too easily,
die early melanoma deaths. And then there’s all
its buried nerves, everywhere, but teeming in the
fingers, face. The feel of a kiss.
Stuck down below heart and lungs and brain,
stuck behind (you bang your back, the ache
you feel is them) ,relegated to the slimy job
of cleaning up the place. They monitor and
regulated the water level diligently—no sleep
at night. Hard wired to the white and gray
inside the skull but in a pinch can do their job
alone. Unbeknownst to most they spew out
juice that jolts the bone to make more cells to
carry oxygen. Found out last fifty years you
can make it if they die but only if you tie
yourself to sterile catheters.
Guard of the gate leading to the ventricles. On
duty day and night, she never sleeps. Her job to
let enough but not too many charges through. If
drugged or old sometimes the gate slams shut.
And then some days she loses count, the hoards
race in. Beat too slow or beat too fast may be too
bad. She worries when the traffic’s slow (no fault
of hers) or when the road takes another route,
bypasses her. Big trouble when she goes berserk,
births charges of her own, spews them out rapid
fire. She must be stopped, but never fired.