Baby Teeth

I pray not to be kept

only for sentiment
like milk teeth in a vitamin jar;

distastefully disregarded - but not discarded

high up on a dust sheeted shelf.

I'd have no room for growth

already extracted
and discoloured with age;

an empty keepsake - a cluttered headache

that no nostalgic pill could remedy.

And I pray don't liken my love
to the taste of Calpol,

    sickly saccharine and sweet;

nor that friendly smile - gone for a while

replaced by a bitter tasting scowl.

Instead you should hold on

to what's relevant now

and the teeth that serve you best;

to chew and grind - but never merely to remind

as some torn and toothless trophy.