Nostalgia for Wonky Teeth
You blame my mother as I blame my mother,
mimicry, the supposed sign of loyalty, love. You
who stand in the bright white glare of this
generation, girls with their wide-open
smiles lighting you up. Never mind,
there may be too many;
see how they are perfectly
aligned, the midline a lovely seam.
Good genes. Good money.
You use that old line from that old text,
the one where eyes are repeatedly mentioned.
I love your smile, you say. For the downward turn,
restraint, rarity, like those twenty-three seconds of light
on the wall that one evening
when I had nothing left to say?
But you wouldn’t really date a Brit,
despite what you claim. Oh, for the flagrant
cuspid, the glaring dogtooth! For the boy
who has a penchant for the gap in the middle!
Oh, for the exhibition of joy with no regret!
Kelly R. Samuels works as an adjunct English instructor near what some term the “west coast of Wisconsin.” Her work has most recently appeared online at apt and Cleaver.