Rows of bristles clustered at one end.
Stains and splatters roam down the wand's
swirls of cerulean and white plastic.
In my grasp,
I wrestle the orange paste onto the bristles,
dunk it quickly under the streaming water.
Freshly peeled orange
smells assault my nose.
Vigorous, I scrub my molars,
purge them of plaque.
(My gums protest.)
I spit the foam with force;
no saliva drools.
Quickly, I rinse the wand,
return it to its throne.
YOU ARE READING
Poems for the Soul
PoetryRandom Poems I have written throughout my life....and just so everyone is clear, I ain't a poem writer ^.^
