20150527 (genes)

At the tips of our DNA are telomeres

Little tabs, zipper stops

That signal the end of the strand

To the replicating processes

And most of the time in their early life

They get it right. Perfect. Absolutely

For some reason, though, as life goes on

Like guards grown weary, the telomeres

Miss a beat and you get a bum strand

Which if it were music, or literature, 

One note off, a misspelled word hell

One among gazillions would still rank an A

But not an A +. Not in genetics. Nope

Lucky you if it gets you another power

In the game of life: seeing through clothing,

Or hearing numbers as notes. You might tire

Of watching all your friends' sagging flesh

Or become mathematically exasperated

At symphonies but it wouldn’t kill you

In real life though a lot of the time

That helical sport becomes 

The worm of your death, the alien 

Inside that grows to shove aside

Or rot what once was baby skin fresh

And functioning. You could complain

But for millions on millions of times

The sad telomeres got it right. Absolutely.

You had your time


c. J.S.Manista, 2015