THE GRIN

The day I got my dentures

I frightened the cat to death.

He took one look, hissed at me

and out of the window he leapt.

The dentist said they looked a treat,

as he stifled his giggles and shuffled his feet.

His assistant couldn't meet my gaze,

saying they'd settle in a couple of days.

I set off home with an awful fixed grin,

people stared at me in alarm.

I was out of place on a civilised street,

I should have been stood on a farm.

My aged dog refused to come near,

scared by the gleaming choppers.

His were big, but mine were worse,

a gruesome set of whoppers.

I looked in the mirror, what a terrible sight,

my face all grey, the teeth dazzling white.

I pulled them out with the dog looking on

and threw them across the floor.

The aged dog pounced and smashed the teeth

against the kitchen door.

So there they lay broken in half,

a pink and white disaster.

Evil teeth, grinning still,

determined to have no master.

by Beryl Lomas