Every time I want to eat something suck something lick something
I have to spit out this transparent mould of myself
manufactured just for me in America
squeezing me uncrooked, squeezing me perfect. Smile,
says the dentist, stretching my lips with his steel
hooks, latex thumbs caressing my gums. Now that I’m hot,
crypto guy flies me to Dubai to suck his cock, yum
I say on the threshold, yum, my suitcase bursting open, spilling thongs
and floss. I hook my smile back on in the golden bathroom, American
plastic rounding my canines. Can you drink champagne
through that thing, he asks afterwards, running me a bubble bath
in his waterproof Rolex. What about Starbucks?
Imagine if you ordered a pumpkin latte and all your teeth fell out
like you are old. I’m young, I say, you’re old, which is true,
and he does a vampire bit that ends with his mouth
at my throat. It’s not funny but I giggle, showing my plastic.
We go to the world’s largest shopping mall
for post-coital Krispy Kremes. There is a decorative tank of live sharks
by Hermès. He tells me their teeth are filed down, just in case.
A shark is a shark, I say spitting
the plastic mould of myself into a napkin, placing it lovingly in my fake Birkin.
Chemical jam bloodies my chin. Round and round the toothless sharks swim.
______________
AV Bridgwood is a writer from Manchester. They are a former Foyle Young Poet and recent graduate of UEA’s MA Poetry. AV was commended in the National Poetry Competition 2023 and won second prize in The Rialto's Nature and Place Poetry Competition 2024.
This poem was chosen by Anthropocene Guest Editor HLR.
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