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Baby Teeth a Poem by Eric King

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Are we the states baby teeth?

Yanked and picked

from societies expanding mouth

Store for safe keeping

in tight little boxes

Have we outgrown our storage?

Maybe we are the cavities

rotting out the core

And when we are gone, the dentist

will cease hostilities

Even when we are uprooted

there’ll never be an end

to all the nerve damage

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