“You have the teeth of a much older man,” Is what my dentist said. A laughing smile That seems to say, “Of course.” The ceiling fan Clicks as it winds a hidden, flashing dial. A periodontal pocket marks a grave, A gap in memory. I’m twenty-six! What was for breakfast? And I barely shave! Is this what I deserve? The fan still clicks. My son has two, even, superb white teeth That crown his lower gum, its pink perfection. Sic transit gloria, kid. A withered heath, This life: all existential disaffection. The stars unfasten from the universe. The copay made me sigh, but this is worse.
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