by Jeffrey McDonald
Rotten from within.
Tiny brown holes hide in the cracks like bed bugs.
crumbling on contact.
Another one is loose.
Weakened worn and withering whites.
Spit into my napkin, be discreet
taste decomposing meat
death behind my lips
leaking from a molar putrid fluid.
Hot Dogs Apples and Thanksgiving dinners.
Swallow this one so they donâ€™t notice.
No repair for the uninsured.
The roots have long since vanished.
They slide off clean with rusty bottoms.
One by one, I brushed, I brushed!
Try to hold them in with your tongue when eating.
They snap off in ice cream
and dissolve in soda.
My own atrophy.
Black stumps in bleeding gums
like charred logs standing in the river
after the pier fire.
0 thoughts on “Chompers”
nice smile. if this poem didn’t remind me so much of my rear molars, I’d probably cringe less when I read it. still, good poem.
Reading this poem made my teeth hurt.