The Whipping Teeth
Last will and testament: to my kids I leave
any monies and real estate and also
a walk down the street on a glossy Fall night,
with the leaves on tip toes scratching the sidewalk.
Also the purple orange sky.
To my best friend, I leave the books, the movies,
and the music as well as the afternoon
light as it soaks in the living room. Toasted air.
Simmering windows.
Last of all, I want my teeth removed. Sell
any gold left in them to be split between the kids.
Leave the smile -- or rather the memory of it -- to my friend.
My teeth and I fought the whole time. The grinding,
the pain, the headaches. They broke. I broke.
Take them out: leave me in peace.
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