Wednesday, 15 December 2010


I've been feeling like I've got tonsillitis. Or possibly laryngitis. I don't have any poems about my larynx. However, I do have one that features my tonsils.* (I've been waiting for a way to crowbar this in... Almost makes up for having SUCH a sore throat.)

Just a check-up

I could sense 
Your shape:
The unmistakable white shape of you,
As you prepared 
And then approached
While I lay,
Wordless, waiting.

You came closer
Then slowly
Bent over
To check for cavities
In my lower molars.

Your moustache twitched
As you chipped
Away at the plaque
Encrusted on the base of my incisors
You were chipping away at my heart.

My tonsils flirted with you
Slightly swollen red harlots
Inflamed and 
Unashamedly pulsating
In glistening nakedness.

‘Any problems?’ you said.
‘Ungh ungh ungh,’ I replied.
As saliva dripped
From my loose, impotent lips.
(You didn’t
Wipe it off.)

‘Take a rinse,’ you whispered.
But the taste of you
Stayed behind.

*While the tonsils in this poem are based on real-life tonsils, the context is entirely fictional; my tonsils have never, as far as I'm aware, flirted with any dentist, moustached or otherwise.