WITH A SMILE

Decay.
It’s happening. Picking up the feather sent my back into spasm, biting into an ice cream broke a front tooth. What it left was a stub and sharp edges and soon the inside of my top lip sore. It wasn’t long before she noticed like everyone else would when I said anything, opened my mouth. Who’s going to want to fuck me now?
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’m your dentist this evening.’
‘We’re just up from the arches,’ she said when I phoned to get help.
‘The old city?’ I said. ‘I know where you are.’
He told me the options when I leaned back in the chair: capped; an implant; a plate. ‘The cap’ll last ten years or so then you might have to think again but I’d keep your own teeth as long as you can. When they’re gone they’re gone.’
He packed the stub, covered the sharps, shaping cement with his finger. ‘It doesn’t look pretty,’ he said and then again after saying, ‘But it’ll do until you get someone else to finish it off.’
At home with a mirror, wondering what I thought about how I looked with a smile.