I am not familiar with your toothbrush,
not acquainted with it,
have no experience of it,
am unaware even of its colour.
I know that a toothbrush is an inanimate object.
It cannot feel,
cannot enjoy the closeness,
as it massages every surface of your teeth,
sliding in and out between your lips,
caressing your tongue, moving across
the inside of your cheeks.
It takes no pride
in performing its morning duty for you,
no pleasure in your gratitude
for the freshness it gives you.
It would be ridiculous,
surely,
to be envious of that lifeless,
insensate,
ultimately disposable
thing.
And yet ….
…. and yet I cannot totally eliminate
the feeling
as I imagine your toothbrush
in its daily moment
of intimacy
with you.
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 12:17 PM UTC
I am not familiar with your toothbrush,
not acquainted with it,
have no experience of it,
am unaware even of its colour.
I know that a toothbrush is an inanimate object.
It cannot feel,
cannot enjoy the closeness,
as it massages every surface of your teeth,
sliding in and out between your lips,
caressing your tongue, moving across
the inside of your cheeks.
It takes no pride
in performing its morning duty for you,
no pleasure in your gratitude
for the freshness it gives you.
It would be ridiculous,
surely,
to be envious of that lifeless,
insensate,
ultimately disposable
thing.
And yet ….
…. and yet I cannot totally eliminate
the feeling
as I imagine your toothbrush
in its daily moment
of intimacy
with you.
The original idea behind it was a quote from Sylvia Plath, who wrote: “I have never written a poem about a toothbrush.” I thought I'd like to try, and if anyone feels the urge to write another poem about that most prosaic object, please let me know by a comment here, or send me a message if you prefer.
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