Chomp Champ

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.

Chomp Champ

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.