Matthew Harris | + Follow Poet |
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Adieu Dental Floss and Toothbrush

(21st century pearly white prosthetics,
restored jaw bar wah key) 

Aye noel hunger bristle,
and when false teeth soak at night 
     in tandem with stubby facial gristle
har reckon noah kisses
 
     far me under mistle
toe, which prickly stubble 
     ma home grown thistle
the downside being, not one 
     chic chick, foxy gal 
     can I sound cat call whistle.

All those years I underwent 
     orthodontic care for naught 
cuz profound gum recession 
     and bone dissolution
 (advanced periodontal disease)

     found me fraught 
with angst riddled necessity, 
     whence dentures bought 
and brought emotional relief, 
     where financial cost to me equaled aught. 

Though grievous o'er grandiose 
     diet of baby food – reg gar agit
tay shun rubs raw rib bill bit
subject recently queried fit
ting lee (tummy eldest sister) 
     now answered with true grit

sans state 'o me health 
     of body, mind and spirit
yea...yea...with the following 
     poe whet tics git writ.

Ten re guard ding learn'n tuck 
     cap cha current day coup page 
with collage of words that best 
attempt to convey how one feels 
after half dozen teeth removed, 

yes, that day of departure fur remaining 
lower teeth transpired countless 
months ago with gums sorely adjusted
dats da tooth full testament to grinning, 
and bearing final surrender 
of thine bottom choppers.

Twas not with glee this dear bro
did accept fate, and now twitters like crow
adjusting new sans parabolic learning curve 
     to talk where speech 
     formerly akin to blob of dough

being formless, yet with for 
     rest full gumption resignation 
to these extractions did flow
into mine psyche (with twinge 
     of accursed displease), boot go

to the University of Pennsylvania 
     Dental School and heave I've hen hoe,
this scrivener and regular joe
tried to find silver lining ya noun owe 
removal of upper teeth from those 
less than five centimeters below.

Long since scheduled 
     about four bajillion weeks
(in the past, and relegated tummy 
     personal dustbin of history)
 
     i.e. aboot Bad Jillian deux fortnight
found yours truly unable to reef er 
     to the skin of my teeth, 
yea this circumstance 
     doth null hunger suck n bit

'though once dentures fitted, 
     thee psychological gloom 
(per maxillofacial situation) 
   with relief insurance 
     picked up tab breathes 
     sigh of relief all day'n height.

if hi ignored grim state 
     of vital accessories to chew
this har chap experienced additional 
molars, cuspids, canines...
     falling out though few
remained upon embarkation, 
     per painful turn of events, grew
ling a smidgen less worse 

     than getting tossed out hoo
chee coot chee mama into 
     the freezing brutal cold 
by none other than Donald Trump 
     eskimo master of royal igloo,

while Sarah Ann aid ding howling winds 
of n arctic monkey shape shifting 
into polar vortex, wood dove probably 
found me coo wing in deleterious 
state of health thru and thru.

Other than the above 
     Matthew Scott Harris feels great
well.... on the bright side - 
     no need to brush nor floss, 
when ma mouth opened ajar - 
   bing permanently totally toothless - 

     aye noel anger viz self hate,
hence nor feel inclined 
     to master ventriloquism, boot
     axe hep oral void analogous 
     newborn as innate 
vis a visa discover ring 
     joyus toothless state.

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