Automatic

We never think of how we breathe
Unless we’re stuck with asthma;
And who wastes thoughts on blood, unless
We’re weak and needing plasma?

We use our eyes to focus
‘Til we suddenly can’t see;
And run for tennis balls until
There’s pain inside the knee.

If things are fine, our bodies
Let us run on automatic,
But unexpected changes may make
Life a bit traumatic.

And so we switch to manual
And contemplate each move,
Until we get the hang of things
And settle in a groove.

For when our gears begin to go
We must accept the fact
That no one gets through life with all
Their body parts intact.