Beatcroft

The softest
Supermarket bread
My father’s words:
“The quick and dead”

Or was it “the whiter” and
“The quicker”?
The memories merge
They fade and flicker

“Eat it all up
You simply must”
Even the blackened 
Pan bread crusts

On loaves baked fresh
Or toasted stale
Enamel cracked
And fillings failed

Fluoride
So it was said
Loch Katrine’s water, 
Lead

From ancient pipes
And better brushing would
Do what no 
Gobstopper could

And solve our 
Dental disrepair:
Bite fearlessly 
If we’d but dare!

And yet, 
So little was delivered
Those lumps 
Of mercury and silver

Still regularly crack
And crumble
And on the telephone 
I mumble

Plead for an appointment, 
Crave
The drilling 
And attempts to save

Molars, incisors 
Whatever’s left 
But, incrementally 
Bereft

Of the ability 
To chew
I ponder 
What else I can do

I will not 
Admit defeat
One way or another, 
I must eat

And so 
Perhaps appropriately
I’ll spend some time 
In Hungary

Receive veneers 
And implants, cheap
And wake 
From anaesthetic sleep

Unsure which I’ll enjoy the most
The tablet or the sourdough toast