A Brush in the Teeth

They call the hills the Teeth,

the field the Tongue.

It was there that fighting men

took up sharpened metal arms

and, grinning obediently

faced their enemies in the hills.

Miniature dentists, they were facing

the plaque-like scourge, or,

so was said.

With violent

viruses came virulent care.

Violent cleansing.

Genocidal outrageous waves

of mouthwash- horrifying today,

the pain of swollen gums and lost gains

preferable to the flossing and stabbing

of that age.

Think of them sometime,

about how the conquered dying,

lying on their backs

stare listlessly up at the bright light,

trying to ignore the tickling pain,

and realizing that they were fated

to rot no matter what.