I’d write a poem
about how irritated my gums are,
but the pain is far too consistent
for me to be cute about it.
There’s a tiny man
living between my teeth,
hacking away at my gums,
and the wretched dentist made it worse.
So here I sit,
23 going on 57,
requesting a dentist appointment as I drink mules and watch men argue over solids and stripes,
unaware that a blue collar worker is making my gums throb.