I (sometimes) call myself Mr. Pondersome. I'm a rather wordy, weirdy person. I say hullo a lot. I write a lot more. While you're here, why not give some of it a read?

Friday, 24 May 2013

TOOTH, PAST (a.k.a. A Poem about Anthropomorphic Chompers)

I am the flying molar.
I am The Original Flying Molar.
I have no idea where this trajectory
is taking me
but at least I'm not an incisor.
I'd shout it from the roof of the mouth
if I could

Incisors are alright growing up
but then they grow up into right bastards:
pushing to the front,
taking the first cut.
We were fine in the gums but then
the personalities formed
and there was a reshuffle.
Ambitious Incisors,
skulking Canines
and, of course, us:
the final grinders.

I was one of the best,
I was in the middle,
I got the biggest cut,
I got the lay of the tongue.
I remember one time
I cracked a lollipop,
I cracked it for the satisfaction.
My other half was on the bottom
but we touched,
we ground it together.
We ground together.

I'll never see my other half again.
I'll never crush through the barriers
to meet,
to get the job done.
I'll never be washed
knowing we'll both be washed,
kissing through the brushstrokes.
That was the way we shared.
In my life I've been yellow
and white
and grey
and all other shades of vulnerable
but compared to this...

I've never flown either but
is this flying?
I see the landing point,
it's bigger than I've ever seen and
I know I'll land on my back.
It looks soft
like a palate
or a tongue
only without all the

To think, I'll never crush again.
To think, I'll never be chipped.
I think I'll make a sound now,
one last bite down.

That was too soft.

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