too many broken teeth set a campfire by the shore,
and they crack on with the persistence of shaved
crown jewels. they stare into the heart of the embers
and pray for the well-being of missing companions;
like crass lipped tongues and strands of beef that
wedge between them with imposing strength.
no marshmallows will be toasted tonight; midsummer
gloom is far more palatable to those with staggering
taste-buds. the teeth lounge about with loose quips
and reminiscences of days larger than tired mouths;
being fed monstrous candies after little girls get
vaccinated for polio, being wrenched from mum gum
at barely four years old, being unceremoniously
shoved under pink polka dotted pillows for fairies to
the flames fade into hissing charred wood and dull
yellow sparks. everything else is hushed into the
silence of a cold dawn. nobody will say a thing now.
nobody will hold a funeral.
if there is a listlessness in your chest, let the gongs sing free. i have only one plastic spoon, but i'll break it in half for you.