His Wooden Teeth

October 1, 2008
More by this author
Never was it a time too soon
That needle hanging from the loon
The scary smile on his face
He breathed through nostrils with disgrace

I took it as a humble deed
To help him through his violent need
Another day he came on through
But then the next, he was doomed

I felt the need to scratch his itch
Yet he told me he had the fix
I watched as he struggled and failed
To help himself; no avail

Encompassing the pits of hell
His ego surpassed what he could tell
A mind so large it overcame
The coordinates of his disdain

It only seemed like he was worse
Each day I had returned in course
He had a new cut for me to see
And he picked at them disgustingly

I found some pleasure in trying to help
Even when he acted as a whelp
The childish essence of his face
Brought me a sense of irreverence

I felt no shame in taunting him
With nothing but his body on a limb
And soon it seemed like he would break
It took only days for me to take

When all seemed well, I thought I’d helped
But then he threw it off the shelf
The casket burning, where he lay
Was nothing more than another day

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback