This is a poem for my pancreas (to be ready slowly and quite forcefully).
The muscular tunnels contract and bring to bear the acidic chyme--
scalding and foul, crawling sludge enveloped in a tangy shroud.
What teeming nutrients can be wrought from the lump? How?
Cruel fate! Turned fuel from fair to foul by the fearsome engine's heat.
The frame will be sure to follow.
And the carcass will serve as feast for the racoons and smaller stupid invertebrates.
But wait! For the door has been slammed in Death's face
as sodium bicarbonate expunges the acid. Through fortunate union the chyme is redeemed!
All praise be to the "-ase"s that flow from the sweet source--that spring meaning all-fleshy!
Pancreas! Pancreas! Hooray! Hoo-ree! Ha-rah! Ha-roo!
Give to us what was once stinky and sad but now great
and broken down, stripped to its innate goodness, free for all the flesh to grow and regrow again.
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