Flavorless

I paid eighty bucks for a mid-century dream

but the underside tells a different story.

My fingers brushed a cold, gray knot

stuck to the mahogany veneer like a barnacle.

It’s been there since the Reagan administration,

a calcified wad of boredom and sugar

holding the deep, frantic grooves of a molar.

Somebody sat here, just like I do,

grinding their teeth against the clock

until the mint died and only the rubber remained.