Potato Peeling
It's my job today to peel potatoes,
the least liked of all unpopular chores,
but as I tip them into the bowl
and begin the sculpture that usually bores,
I realise a miracle's happening.
Muscles, tendons, sinews of my hands,
their bones and finger joints together plying,
aided by blood flow and nerves in play,
with the will of my mind and careful eyeing,
I embark on my preparation.
The peeler I use, an ingenious thing,
grew from man's skill over many millennia,
from tools of stone, of flint and bronze,
of iron and stainless steel passing through many a
phase of civilization.
As I scrape the skin over different contours,
done with the best of my acumen,
I mustn't forget that standing here,
a living, breathing, thinking human,
indeed I'm performing a miracle.
So in carrying out this onerous task
with reluctance but some dexterity,
I'm reminded of gifts that are given in life,
the body's fleeting fragility,
the marvel helping our systems unite
and all that grants us facility.