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

Slender

Hooked

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

Viewing

Probing

Only inches away.

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