Circle of Toothlessness

What teeth their families leave
from years of pulling, the schools
extract. What remains is gum
or starve. At first, they masticate
avidly, as if obsession
with a blunted haft could
resurrect a blade.

Alas, the jerky's sinews hold.
Almonds harden into small brown
stones. Corn chips nick the cheeks,
and bloodied gums abound.
Palates retreat to juice and slush.
Tongues plunge into yogurt; weary
teens retire to beds of applesauce.

Soon, they'll slide into their
twenties, undergo the rites
of passage, earn their shiny pliers,
learn to purse the needle, plant
the kiss of xylocaine. At last, to each
is given: grade book, classroom
key, box of chalk – our children.

© Fred Longworth