, , , , ,

the medicine applied

to my tooth releases

a steady stream

of bitterness

all night long –

an old maid’s lament –

when no prince charming

has been forthcoming

and she withers,

unplucked, on the bough.


my soon-to-be ex-

tooth grizzles

and complains,

a fretful child

whose whimpering

I can’t ignore –

it’s raising hell

in an unsupervised corner.


the earthiness

of oil of cloves


grants a brief respite,

a shoulder squeeze

of sympathy

from someone

otherwise undemonstrative.