Friday, August 26, 2016

Weekly Worded

Before Bed

I reach for a toothpick.
During the search for bits of food, 
I track down lost ideas between my teeth,
fragments of the morning and afternoon. 

I don’t know why I’m telling you this.

Maybe in the evening 
while poking around in my mouth,
I believe I'll find something tender
that doesn’t bleed.

1 comment:

rosemerry said...

okay, so I totally love this poem. Every bit of it. That is real talent, to make someone say Awwwwwww when they finish reading a poem about picking teeth. :) Only you, David.