I was studied
by the good people
who raised me.
My under bite caused
a constant muted noise
that became high
pitched amid chewing.
The pace with which
I’d finish my helpings
was prodigious
and unbecoming.
As penance, I’d spit
what I’d already chewed
into a cloth napkin.
Such is the outcome
of manners. The table,
the thing itself,
I’d sanded and stained
in my spare time.
I made it inviting
by writing a prayer
that the good people
recited pre-meal
as we held hands.
After everything, I’d clear
the table I had set
for that was my job
and so it was
my own, the table,
though not in ways
that mattered.
I was ordinary
in that I improved,
unknowingly,
as a thinker
and learned when
to distrust
the good people
raising me.
Strangers
at cash registers
would look at me
and not others
for the money
owed them.
All the same
the good people
studied me.
They watched
my jaw. My jaw
was watched
so I thought of it
at all times. My mouth
was also watched.
I discovered it
wasn’t a shape
I liked, a shape not
flattered by movement
and it moved often
(too much I thought)
so I kept it still
and subtle
and the good people
approved.
I thought little
of their approval
but never
a little for long.
I’d go with my mouth
into a walk-in closet
where I’d drink
water for the first
time in the day
and I’d have helping
upon helping
upon helping
upon helping.
I’d face a sundress
and have a good sweat
into my helping
and rework my mouth
by biting down
onto a Styrofoam
ball of pins and needles.
It helped with the opening
and closing. The heads
were red, green
red, red, blue,
black, light blue,
light blue, yellow,
white, black, blue,
red, blue.