Hard Parts

The bill on the counter says I owe four hundred

for the privilege of keeping my jaw.

I chew a handful of cheap pills instead

and listen to the furnace hum.

Last night, a kernel of corn did what time couldn't—

found the weak spot in the enamel.

Now my tongue keeps returning to the ruin,

a jagged mountain in a wet, dark cave.

It’s strange how the parts of us that stay

after the rest has rotted in the dirt

are the things that cost the most to fix

and the easiest things to break.