​

 

Her smile was sincere and beguiling,

but most noteworthy lay underneath.

(In dentists’ historical filing

are reports of my grandmother’s teeth.)

 

Her dentures weren’t just acrobatic

and musical’s shy of the mark;

their adventures were often dramatic,

like ‘that time’ with the pug in the park.

 

Artists and players adored her,

devouring the raucous applause…

Of course, when they then turned towards her,

the clamorous source was her jaws.

 

Invaluable, Gran was, each Yuletide –

shunning scissors, she tore off the tape.

While we carolled and wrapped at the fireside,

she’d sit with her portal agape.

 

It was not just the porcelain prowess –

her tongue was a muscular beast

which attained an award while at Powys

for a challenging gobstopper feast.

 

Limp and lifeless, ’til called into play

then the tension and strength would abound.

The range of its outward display

had globally broken ground.

 

With oral-isation cohesive,

each element did its darn best,

but, at times, a fail in adhesive

meant Granny was put to the test:

 

a pip or a seed deftly burrowed,

along with a stale Hovis crumb,

into granny’s soft wobbly furrows

impeded her skill. ‘Ow, my gum!’

 

‘I’ve got summat lodged in me molar!’

Granny’d shout as she spat out her gnashers.

Our drill was to drop her and roll her,

then she’d tell us that we were all ‘smashers’.

 

Alas, Granny’s no longer with us

but her memory always lives on…

though what sometimes gives us the shivers

is her teeth have not sung their swansong.

 

They are something of exercise bunnies

doing park runs and parkour and tricks.

The dogs get a run for their money

now they’ve mastered the fetching of sticks.