The dentist says implants

are screwed into bone,

and some glue to the gums

to comfort shallow jaws,

offering all sizes

and heights, including widths,

like the nonuniform

fish across the room, rank

of fluoride and feed

that sank into their tank

and canvassed a plaque

of green and brown ugly,

a mesh of aquatic

mold and quagmire

goo that amasses thick

mucous and crude

cakes of curvaceous

sewage, the serpentine

sludge of an ignored

pool of angels, before

he beckons you to him

to drill in all your bits

so you can bite again

and swallow the swimming

of wretched creatures

that pulse in a putrid

waiting room, while you

are in pain and peeking

at those forgotten fins,

which you would never eat

with immaculate teeth,

and your dentist knows that.