In a City

Every night in the clear glass
teeth sink to the bottom
millions of stars blinking
time to go to sleep

and an old cow's tongue
in the icebox
curls in a chipped green bowl
my father's favorite sandwich

the tongue, the teeth
in a glass, in a bowl
of course, I never wore braces

and this is why some days
in a mirror, in a city
it all seems a little crooked

Debra L. Hutchison