baby teeth

I lost my first fang in the flesh of an apple.  
Like all vipers, the first tooth loss is unmatched.  

A bloody stub of white stuck out of the fruit like evidence left at a crime scene.
Questions pouring from the newfound channel in my mouth.  
My question of “why?” whistled in the wind.  
Only to be met with, “It’s all part of life, kid.” 
For losing teeth was just another uncomfortable rite of passage I would have to endure.  
Significant as one’s first steps; I would learn to wobble my way through the uncertainty.  

The first of my pearly whites was tucked under a starry pillowcase.  
As the sun rose, there was gold imprinted on the palm of my tiny hand.  
A motive. 
Slammed doors, forceful wiggles and bloody grins followed; a pot of treasure awaiting.  
The day the last fang fell was the moment I began to feel a little stronger, older and bolder.  

As I came to fruition, I saw others fight with their smiles.  
Straightening them with wire and shredding the insides of their tightly drawn curtains.  
Whilst mine was praised as though discipline had a part to play.  
My newfound fangs that had replaced my baby ones were a symbol of worth; of status.  
For those with Colgate smiles sit pretty on pedestals of security.  

Now I find myself tentatively testing the building blocks in my mouth.  
Are there any willing to be sacrificed to cover the cost of my Monday night Mie goreng? 
If only fortune was as easily reaped as it was when I was losing my baby teeth. 

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