Dedicated to Walt Whitman
I am a man of the narrow spaces
There no space remains
To breathe, to grow, to live
To chew, to brush, to floss.
Something is stuck in the narrow spaces
A morsel lodged between my teeth
I yearn to be free of it
I am the tooth picker.
In my dreams rotten teeth crumble
My mouth a horror of broken stumps
I must choose new teeth
I am the tooth picker.
Broken-down busboy, trailer park carny
We share the same fate, grimacing and ashamed
Yet hope remains for smiles and laughter
A new day dawning in my mouth.
False teeth sustain me.
New mouth set me free.
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