Mine is just dentistry, thus I can pray for my oldest friend
I lack the faith of doorknobs or roads
the steadfast purity in purpose
an exhibit of solid testimony
between before during now and after
how hands or rain or dust cannot shake
the utility of being so
no minor inconvenience for direction
no reason to look beyond or under
but then doubt is a quiet virtue
applied as it is to wax over an incisor
to blunt a broken molar at the tongue
to pace the slow words
thus I can pray for my oldest friend
while the aloof surgeon intercedes
to halt the spread of decades
this wily thing remorselessly pacing
our born shadow gift and terror
mine is just dentistry
a contiguous shallow emergency
for the same day as your anaesthesia
maybe I can ask for something else, gas?
journey together to a dreamy theism
take hold of our resiling years
palm to brass handle, knee to bitumen
Grieve Stories and Poems of Grief and Loss Volume 9 Hunter Writers Centre August 2021
James Walton Poetry 