The Honest Skeptic

THE HONEST SKEPTIC

It must be how he eats the place, 

sloshing it around his tongue

to give ten-thousand buds a taste

of it, the way his Pop would gum

        a liquid egg and toast. He lives with

        remnants in his teeth. Would it be

        best to scrub them raw or even get

        veneers? Those people creep

him out with their unblinking

grins, their white unquestionables, 

but there’s no fear of smiling 

when everything is known. Still,

        one has to wonder if it's certainty

        compels them tighten up their bags,

        graft away grey, and then, eventually, 

        kill themselves with plastic hearts.  

If that's the case, he'll take a bit

of almond in his teeth, even if

he'll never fully wedge it out

with brushing or a water pick.