Song of self

I am that Irish pennant -

sticking out from a hem or a seam,

that, if you pull on me,

the whole thing unravels/disintegrates

I am the canary in the coal mine -

When my song singing ceases,

the fresh air that you need to breathe

to survive is just about to run out

I am the A-ganger in AMR II -

running the O2 generator, the CO2 scrubber,

and the H2 burner in close, tight synchronicity;

in melodic harmony the compressors speak

to each other, while I work the pumps and valves

to maintain the nitrogen/oxygen balance 

throughout the boat.

I am the fly in the ointment –

a textural discontinuity,

a corruption in a pure system,

a something that just won’t fit in

I am the sentinel species –

and my presence or my absence,

or my well-being is a sign for your ass

of the relative health of the ecosystem