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.
viruses came virulent care.
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.