poetry writing challenge - day 7

Two fer Tuesday...Prompt #1: I want you to write a clean poem. Take this however you wish. Clean language, clean subject matter, or cleaning the dishes. Of course, some twisted few will automatically link "cleaning" with hired hitmen. That's okay, as long as your poem is somehow linked to clean.


Root Planing

There is his hand in my mouth
Her hand in my mouth
His drill in his hand in my mouth
Her embarrasing suction thing
Her other hand now with her something tool
Searching under my tongue. Ow! -Bitch!
Four eyes very close
The wretched music of breath, saliva and drill.
I blink up, Buddha like, at the pock-marked ceiling
and decide to become everyone
who at this minute is in this state
Blinking up at the same pock-tiled ceiling
the same nasty white square lights
Drooling, trusting, not biting
In Bogata, Boise, Flattop, Frankfurt, Nashville, Midway, Izmir, Chihuahua, North Philly

You'll feel some pressure now.
(more tools than hands in there now)
I’m just gong to take out the last of that root
Hold still. Let me know if it hurts.

And in whatever language we say “upfm pw”
And think,
We could bite you. We hope you know that.



ps. notreallydentistifyoureadthis. you're the best.





Prompt #2: I want you to write a dirty poem. Take all that stuff I wrote in the first prompt and twist it upside down. The opposite of clean is dirty; so, do what ya gotta do to produce a dirty poem. (Gosh, I hope this challenge doesn't get too messy as a result.)


Stuck

I can’t get at it
A damn sunflower seed
Caught just right where I got a new bridge
Wedged.
I suck after it all night
Prod and poke
I can’t get it.

It stays
Roots

I try to brush it out.
No?
Fine.
Goodnignt!

As I sleep dirt packs around and under the bridge
Saliva flows past it and it grows
I sleep lightly
Without novocaine as it grows
to a height of two feet
Sucking all the nourishment from my dreams:
(something about sex and love or hope -
ahh - what was it? I can't remember.)

In the morning I wake up,
look into its giant face
try to see a bit of myself
in that dried old bunch of seeds.

Aging is a drag.