Perishable

Jan 31 2020

I am wearing cool shades

on a dull winter day

inside.

Reclining like a Roman Caesar

under bright overhead lights

in a sleek contoured chair.

Where I wait for the dentist

and hope the freezing takes.

I think how shark teeth replenish themselves.

How a rodent's keep growing,

and if not ground down

will curve through the roof of the mouth

and skewer the brain.

While human teeth are perishable

and must survive a lifetime of wear.

Yet remain after death,

the hard enamel

perhaps our only posterity.

Long after the soil has absorbed

the ornate wooden casket,

its satin in tatters

brass untouched.

After the clothes have turned to dust

bone crumbled

flesh decomposed.

The drill's high-pitched whine

penetrates.

The taste in my mouth

is between chalky and burnt.

The suction gurgles, the dentist looms,

my body tenses

fingers grip.

The glasses dig into my nose

which has now started to itch.

And all I can think

is how many people have worn them before me,

the skin and ooze and oil

of the human condition

sticking to their black plastic frames,

the forced intimacy

so close to my face.

The wasting away

as life goes on.

The shed skin, thinned bone, weakened muscle

as our bodies shrink and slump.

Teeth replaced with metal

a broken molar pulled.

While for now, my eyes

wide with adrenaline

are carefully protected

from harm.

I apologize for another somewhat morbid poem.

But this is the feeling as one ages: that one is obliged to repeatedly overcome a succession of losses. There are the weakened teeth, their enamel thinned and gums receding: teeth that can be repaired, but never truly restored. There is the inevitable loss of muscle, the thinning of bone, the worn-out joints. And there are all the other losses: ambitions unrealized, disappointments in life, loved ones departed, and loves lost.

Yes, age has its gifts: perspective, wisdom, patience; an enhanced appreciation for the small things of life; and perhaps greater success in finding meaning and purpose. And if nothing else, gratitude for having been born in the 20^th century: a grateful beneficiary of modern dentistry!

Nevertheless, as the famous actor Bette Davis is reputed to have said: “old age ain't no place for sissies”.

All this is top of mind ever since my hip has deteriorated to the point that replacement can no longer be deferred; since the knee has started to swell up badly with even minimal walking; and since I've been waiting for a permanent crown to replace the temporary that now protects my broken molar. The arrow of deterioration goes in only one direction. We are subject to the iron law of entropy, and our only hope is to keep its forward motion it as slow as possible!