A whirr of sanitized machines
vile odors of adhesive
and ceramic filed to fit
tap-tap, grind sideways now
they say. One final push
a sudden twinge of glue
and all’s emplaced
while I lie cumbent in epoxy dreams
and wait for permanent cement
to seal, recalling mandibles
from interglacial pits;
tale-telling teeth that burials
at Thebes now yield; blue bits
of lapis on enamel
of brush-licking scribes;
and wonder if a thousand years downstream
some robot paleo-this or -that
will brush soil from the remnants
of my lower jaw and ponder
what I ate, how aged,
and analyze my molars’
patterned wear, or clues
preserved in dessicated plaque,
for the elusive being it’s programmed
to pursue and try to corner there.
