Monday, October 29, 2018

Harvey Lost All of his Teeth

Harvey lost all of his teeth. You had a tooth fairy,
his was a tooth thief. His teeth came to grief
early on. The baby ones went in the usual way but
then so did their siblings chip, soften and crumble
and turn their array into ruins: normally, new teeth
that grew were shoo-ins for staying to chew. But now
a mere cough made another slip off – a moderate
shout once made thirteen fall out. One winter he’d
shivered a little at dawn. Three splintered abruptly,
flew hither and yon. They tried to nail implants
into his frail bone. But the implants fell out
and left Harvey alone. False teeth were fashioned
at last as a cure but they tortured his gums. His
prognosis was dour. Then the Tooth Thief revealed his
unparalleled plan to the man. (Tooth Thief now long
had been Harvey’s one friend.) His grandma Ruth
Loose-Tooth defended it when she was dying. Teeth
were what kept human beings from flying. One didn’t

know why, who cared about why? He ruthlessly wanted
the man he made toothless to fly. He’d chosen him
randomly, spun around close-eyed to choose the first
female or male his eyes chanced to espy when they
opened: there lay un-marvelous Harvey, lying abed in
his baby clothes, sucking out one little tooth, then
another, another until there were no more of those
in his head. When finally toothless and ready – was
Harvey a whiz in the sky! As Harvey rose up on air flow
he bid all of the teeth in the world a goodbye. His mother
cried “Harvey, don’t go!” But that was a show. She’d
never have stopped him with smothering mother-ness,
forcibly sappy. She’d never seen Harvey remotely
as happy. He soared. His life had been mush. It now
was a sword. Is there a moral here, maybe? Don’t grow
your teeth back, the ones known as baby. You’ll suffer
their lack with a charming if toothless wide grin. Just
think of the freedom of heaven you soon will be in.

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