poem

 The BruxistI ' m a modern American manIn all the usual waysExcept for a rather severeVariant of night clenching.While sleeping I crack crownsAnd grind molarsDown to skipping stones.My dentist asks If I ’ve been eating rocks.Soon I ’ll need dietary modifications—Only softs and purees, nothing to gnaw,Nothing with a crunchAnything I can just gum.I wake with the ache of a spikeDriven into the hingeOf my jaw.Mouth guards don ’t helpI just clamp down harder.I ’m ravenous for something at night, it seems,Driven to feed an emptinessHiding in the hole of the gutThat can never be sated. As soon as I fall asleep a buffetAppears —steaming serving pansOf past failures, regrets and loss.For dessert a chilled mousseOf impending doom.All night I chewTo make them go awayI know it all rotsIn the light of the day9/7/23

Source: Buckeye Surgeon - September 7, 2023 Category: Surgery Authors: Jeffrey Parks MD FACS Source Type: blogs