Who am I?

A tooth in the mouth of a smiling woman

Rooted in inevitable decay

Surrounded by warm, moist flesh

And others like me whose rate of decay is relative

To their position on the bridge

The tongue our white knight

The crown our servant of peace

Swallowed whole

The drool of

Gap-toothed impermanence

The space in a child’s face

Where winds become whistles

Without effort

Fills in, begins again

And waits

For will

To wiggle

Its way out

Make my day