by Gary Mesick

What can I say that would help you now?

That I had no right to my amused surprise
When you saw your first sheep and mistook them
For a breed of unusually hirsute cattle,
Since you had only seen bull terriers for reference?

That, though I loathed spending the night with you
Pulling and replacing our drive train, and I berated you
For not challenging the order that sent us plunging
Into the ravine under that moonless sky,
I was secretly flattered (being barely old enough to drink myself)
That you would drive off a cliff
On just my say-so?

That you were fiercely loyal to me.
That the other guy wasn’t half the soldier
You should have been.  That you were a straight arrow
When sober.  That you were bound for jail
Before you were born.  That your doom is insufferable,
Like cancer.  And that I can only hope you captured
Some remembered joy in those few allotted years you had
Before stabbing your bunkmate over that half-empty bottle
Of Olde English 800.

by Gary Mesick

You can lie to a priest
In a way you can never lie
To your dentist.  Every probe,
Every x-ray, every scaling,
Will extract the truth from your
Too-long neglected and recidivous gums.
Again you will resolve (sincerely this time)
To floss twice daily.
Amen.

My priest listens.
My dentist doesn’t need to hear.
There is no forgiveness
In dental health — only failure,
And repentance, and again
More failure.

In the beginning,
You may only suffer a scolding,
Perhaps the odd filling,
Or a particularly talkative hygienist,
But over time, your unworthiness
Becomes manifest in your mouth.

You can lie to a priest,
Your boss, your spouse, your lover’s spouse.
Your dentist alone sees all.
All the polishing and drilling,
Or even debridement
Are not sufficient.  And try as I might
I can never measure up to
His most perfect oral care plan.