Extraction

 
The rot has got to go,
Yet the truth is I’m attached to the tooth,
But the pain is too much to bear,
I swear, I kind of don’t want to let go.
I know there is a smell,
My swollen gums tell me so,
But the molar is already half broken off,
It’s just a sharp little sliver.
The doctor recommended the extraction,
For the tooth cannot be saved,
So I grieve there quietly,
Or else the infection may spread.
I’m a sentimental,
But I agree to part with it,
At the end of all the dental work,
The extraction will be the last.
After the needle and the slicing,
After digging and digging in my mouth,
I feel the root when it’s being removed,
I feel the memories of past meals part.
And there it was, the root and sliver,
Still intact with an attached afterbirth,
With pus and blood it quivered,
I said goodbye to my molar.