the time it takes

[sweetwater]

the taxi arrived at the front door
i hadn't even the time to brush my teeth
for what is left of one at the octagenarian enterprise
of calcium deposits

or what are teeth made of ...

running up the stairs to grab my tooth brush
i realized i had packed the tooth brush in
my day bag

and running downstairs to retrieve it
i tripped over my shoes laying in the foyer
and bumped my head

the taxi's horn could be heard from the airport
not as irony but more as foreshadow

i ran back upstairs and performed the ritual
of pretending i was not as old as i thought i was

yet not old enough for denturing the items
of a lost youth

grabbing my sack and day bag
and almost forgetting my money belt
and passport

my hat falling around the edges of my ears
with brightly lit dentures

maybe it seems as if these moments
in the happening lack a certain pretense

or maybe even philosophy