Molar moving on
So farewell then, lower left four, small molar;
drilled, filled and chewed with over many years;
now cracked, broken and infected,
you have reached the end before the rest of me.
I feel the dentist working at you,
I see the hairs on his wrist.
In the end, you slide out surprisingly easily
from your socket home in my jawbone.
We look at you briefly in the light together.
I see that you are long, slightly smeared with blood.
Then you are gone, and I am left with a gap.
One day the rest of me will go, leaving a slightly larger gap.
In the meantime I do the work required of me,
processing the diet of the world.
We are all teeth in the mouth of life,
moving stuff on, one day getting moved on.