Rich folks keep their teeth until late in life.                        
                            “Rich Folks, Poor Folks, and Neither” Jim Harrison  

with a mouth three teeth short of a box of Chicklets™
I lean on the dental school’s emergency clinic.
I sit agape below scrutiny and a surgical light.
Faculty says, “Consistent care…”
but they don’t tell me how I’d pay.

I ask about any studies;
they shake their masked heads.  
My mouth wanes, never waxes.
Two more speciments cry for unaffordable care.
Five years between visits yet no tartar.
I baffle them — my anomalous mouth confuses experts.  

“Brush your tongue,” they say.
Of course, I brush my tongue.
How else could my poems come out?