Man, that lady was all up in my face y’all

A poem

(Based on a true story)

That lady, she pried

That lady, she prodded

That lady, she probed


A mask obscuring half

Her face

But eyes

gazing, seeing, searching

The questions soon came:


Do you smoke? No.

Coffee? Not at all.

Then from whence do these stains come?


Question hanging


The tentative reply: tea? I drink a bit of tea…?

Black? Used to, but I know now to add milk.

A pause.

For a moment

Then a knowing nod OK


Fact finding mission accomplished

Back inside she goes

The ivory guarded hollow…

That lady prodded

That lady poked

She scratched and scraped

Silver instruments her tools



Fiercely seeming to grate enamel

Purportedly targeted at stains


The violence soon enough abated

Soothed as cream on a burn

By fluids and pastes

Cleansing, cleaning

Shining the porcelain veneer

That little extra bit of shine


Hardly an ordeal

Yet slightly bizarre

With mouth wide open

Gaping… exposed

The unseen unearthed

and viewed


And always those eyes

Ah the eyes of the masked face



Only inches away.

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