Just for Fun: The Secret Life of a Writer’s Gum

Pristine wad of pressed paste,

sleek, soft

and neatly placed

in silver 

unfolding sweet aroma,

enticing with ease, a sublime

salivic response.

Then, undressed and plucked from foil,

drawn through space and

touched to tongue

while

rolled over knobbles

of taste buds,

inspiring

words.

 

Indentions shaped by warmth and wet,

jaw-clenching frustrations slip away

dimpling, twisting densely

into leaf-like lumps,

it cracks when chomped 

crushed

between semi conscious teeth,

dispersing winter’s green.

 

Exhausted sap of black birch,

extracted from mouth

and secretly laid to rest,

bears witness

to winter’s waxing words,

an unsung hero

hidden

stuck

beneath the

white ash mantle

of a budding

poet’s desk.