the backs of my bottom teeth
are fuzzy this Friday,
but the backs of your gums
are bullshit.
my favorite living poet,
Thomas Fucaloro taught me
that even the ocean
isn't afraid to roar back.
even still, we are here,
burying our grievances
in between our teeth
waiting to floss them out.
when the evil dentist
does her thing
we are still left with the sting
of everything.
from rent to politics
to planning how to afford NYC again,
to how we pay the dentist,
all while still trying to find love.