With a Knife
By Xanthe Brown
What you’re doing is
Picking your teeth with a knife.
You hold pain so close to those jaws,
As if it is a cup of tea.
Steel is no more daunting to you than a stick of gum,
No snickering is to you un-maskable,
As if you, alone and natural,
Clean your mandibles with a handy sword.
As if your molars are so holy they merit
A wholly, very different floss
Whose dissent means certain dental loss.
But everyone can see,
When you wield words and wade through conversations
Waving your blade,
Kicking up dirt in everyone’s faces,
The sparkle in your eye and the smirk in your grimace.
You’re picking your teeth with a knife.
Picking your teeth with a knife.
You hold pain so close to those jaws,
As if it is a cup of tea.
Steel is no more daunting to you than a stick of gum,
No snickering is to you un-maskable,
As if you, alone and natural,
Clean your mandibles with a handy sword.
As if your molars are so holy they merit
A wholly, very different floss
Whose dissent means certain dental loss.
But everyone can see,
When you wield words and wade through conversations
Waving your blade,
Kicking up dirt in everyone’s faces,
The sparkle in your eye and the smirk in your grimace.
You’re picking your teeth with a knife.
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