I left my tooth,
or most of it,
in Chinatown,
where a chook-bone
shocked and broke it.
Like chook-bones
tooth fragments
are chomped on
and - preferably -
not swallowed.
In this case, less tooth
joined the bone pile
on the side of my plate
than my tongue sensed
I’d lost from my mouth.
‘Plenty of teeth left!’
I grimace at the wife.
She blenches and flinches,
wields defensively
her clenched chopsticks.
It’s happened to her,
more than once - and at
the time was eating out.
This tooth I've lost,
picked out by fate
in Seattle’s Chinatown
this summer night.
My smile’s no worse
than it ever was - a smile
these days you'll seldom see.
But I smile inwardly.
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