Rotten tooth

My tongue delves into

the gap between molar

and wisdom tooth,

that jagged mountain

symbol of age,

symbol of life lived and

truths and teeth

broken through the gum.

Caught in that pocket

a stream of pus

leeches, as I suck against

the immovable stone in my mouth.

 

If I could spit out pebbles

i would cause an avalanche

of disease pouring from

my tortured gum.

 

And so, I wait in the waiting room

on the green plastic chair,

and listen to the whistle

of the drill

behind closed doors.

 

A poem that I wrote while waiting to have a wisdom tooth removed. A weird situation as you wait for some oddly comforting pain!  

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