My Nanny's Teeth
were made by my Uncle Bobby
Across the street
From where my other granddad had the taxi stand.
And my Nanny’s teeth?
She leaves them places.
Those teeth of hers.
I’ve found them
Between sofa cushions
And in the candy dish.
She’s just two weeks shy of ninety.
Still running the roads with her friends.
I don’t have a lot of big epic stories to tell about my Nanny.
I haven’t had thirty years of mythologizing her.
Fine by me.
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