The organs called a pow-wow.
I try to close her lids, said eyes,
but nightmares prevent me.
I’m a slave to my design, claimed ears,
what goes in forced to stay.
Be merciful, blood pressed them,
rushing by without response.
Don’t look at me, gut grumbled,
she throws up everything I give her.
Captains don’t jump ship, shrugged brain,
or else of course I would.
I guess it’s up to me, said heart,
once again the hero.
And he struck.
Paula Rudnick is a former television writer and producer who has spent the past 30 years as a volunteer for nonprofit organizations.
In the past several years, she has begun to write poetry — another nonprofit endeavor.