POEM: Ode to My Immune System [Day 8 NaPoMo: Ode]

I

Accused of failing to think about you,
I cannot deny that it’s true.
My lymph bristles with white blood cells
that make invading me treacherous hell.
And leucocytes are just a start,
marrow and spleen each play a part.
I can’t thank you all in this strophe,
but if I could I’d give you each a trophy.

 
II

I can’t say I recall each time I’ve been sick,
but my T-cells must surely have a nice trick
cause they’ve got them etched from first to last,
dating back fifty years in my past.
And if my thymus weren’t a taskmaster
I fear my life would end in disaster
for my body would self-cannibalize.
[And if that idea gives me teary eyes,
tears have antimicrobial enzymes.]
If I had to think about all the times
my NK-cells shivved a potential tumor,
I couldn’t maintain such good humor.

 
III

My ode is almost done, and many were left out.
The truth is there’s a lot that I don’t know about.
So, it’s not that I don’t love my antibodies.
Nor that I think their work is shoddy.
I just didn’t do well enough in Chemistry
to describe their heroism with rhymed brevity.
Skin, lung cilia, gut mucus, and macrophage
each deserve more words up on this page…

than have smarts to write.