It’s like teeth, once

one gets pulled out,

falls through the gap

of the regimented neglect

or the dust that gets underneath,

the termite filth that snaps back,

then the keyboard never feels

or looks the same, bare tooth grin

in the corner, full set of dentures

perfect black tiles with tattooed

memory, yet one missing tile can speak

a thousand words

and misspell the one that is important,

the sentence incomplete, inadequate,

when the perfect smile is tinged

with a missing tooth.

Ian D. Hall 2016