A Little Tooth


Your baby grows a tooth, then two,
And four, and five, then she wants some meat
Directly from the bone. It’s all

Over: she’ll learn some words, she’ll fall
In love with cretins, dolts, a sweet
Talker on his way to jail. And you,

Your wife, get old, flyblown, and rue
Nothing. You did, you loved, your feet
Are sore. It’s dusk. Your daughter’s tall.


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A Little Tooth