by Don ThackreySomewhere inside my head, a central node,
My Houston, monitors five astronauts
Transmitting data in five types of code
The main computer then translates to thoughts.
One astronaut relays the songs of birds,
A baby’s babble, the fiercest thunderstorms;
Another brings the gifts of printed words,
Displays the grace of dancers’ moving forms;
Two others also play their special roles:
Helping me relish food and follow scents.
The gloomy fifth, in charge of feel, patrols
Outside and in, collects intelligence,
And notes our system shows defects almost
As bad as O-rings, foam sloughs … says we’re toast.