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Rated: E · Poetry · Personal · #2235820
In memory of my dad
Dad was a dentist in life, the kind
who traded artwork for fillings
and let prospective missionaries
work in his yard to earn
straightened teeth.

Sometimes he preached
to patients in his chair,
their mouths agape
and full of fingers.

He laid a pavement in my smile
of silver and ivory,
a foundation of crowns
to last through the Millenium—

or at least twenty-five years,
after which my current dentist
has replace them one by one,

carefully chipping out the last bits
still reluctant to be removed.
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