Today's image is of a full size model of a molar that my father carved over 50 years ago as a test in dental school. A couple of years ago, after he had closed his office, we were going through some of his stuff and I asked him if I could have it. It is carved in wax and, I am told, lifelike in every detail. I can imagine him as a young man, laboring over this carving as his children whooped in the background in the tiny trailer in Rockland. This poem is new. Recently I had to have one of my teeth extracted, the first. The title refers to the number of the tooth I lost, upper left side.
There it is again, that damned gap.
The tongue just can't resist exploring
The ghost of the guard for fifty years,
More or less.
Your permanent record, a permanent job
Permanent teeth, yeah, well, so much for that.
Cells die every day and are reborn again,
Except this can't be replaced, I am no shark.
This is how it goes he says,
"Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.";
The clever bastard.
The broken crown is cast away,
New bone building for a robot molar
Of titanium and God knows what.
The balance tips
A little bit more
Toward the end.
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