October 8, 2010
Baby teeth parade in neat lines
proclaiming perfect evenness.
Easy equation in which numerator
and denominator meet and greet
over pink board of lisping tongue.
Gummy foundations for architecture
of white, well-placed tiny bricks.
But the gothic develops quickly.
Dark gaps gape like blind eyes
between crooked slates of ambition.
Tooth grows over tooth, bony excess,
lurking doppelgängers of tusk.
Then mouth exorcises milky ghosts
and settles down to grown-up sense,
grinding out a modest lifetime;
our well-worn, skullful suburb of jaw.