Some bodies never get opened,
require no surgery.
Nonetheless, we trust that humans
are equipped with matching
machinery. In every attic,
a brain, and downstairs,
two lungs, a liver, a stomach,
intestines spooled up
like a garden hose. Same make,
slightly varying models.
This collective trust pumps through
cities and villages, governs
survival. When the traffic stops
because the stoplight
burns red, and the glowing white
man blinks above
the street, we walk without fear.
The driver puts a foot
onto the brake, agreeing to not
run any pedestrian over.
Because we were made according to
rules, we continue to
make them so that we might feel at home,
these old family recipes.