First, an injection to numb the loss of umpteen species.
There are other teeth, so what’s the odd extinction? Hold on

to your polar bears, adrift in unfeeling oceans.
There’s a menagerie beneath the shallows of gum.

Impressive says the dentist: an Xray of tyrannosaurs.
Intertwined. Clinging together as the ship goes down.

Can you feel that? Does it hurt,
to know a living part of you will soon be gone?

He tunes his instruments. There’s drilling, the waft
of singed ivory. Am I the last of the walruses in the room?

One final wrench, all done. He suggests sucking ice
to staunch the flow. A prescription for Paracetamol.

The narwhal is back in its unquestioning cage.
Sensation worms its way home, the fridge hums

as it sponges up resources. Change the gauze
and go for the amnesia-cube. Its chill shock

shoots pain into my palette: spit out the hail stone
and my tongue resigns itself to this ransacked coastline,

a cargo of spilt tusks whale bone silence.

Sue Kindon was born when Croydon was still in Surrey, and studied at Hull, where Larkin ruled the library. She rediscovered poetry while living in Cumbria, and was privileged to be part of Brewery Poets, Kendal. She now lives and writes in The French Pyrenees. An enthusiastic member of the local slam team, she has recently won an award for French poetry. Kindon is the author of two pamphlets, She who pays the piper (Three Drops Press, 2017); and Outside, the Box (4Word Press, 2019), sparked by the box moth plague that devastated the shade-lined shepherds’ paths of her adopted landscape.