canker

In the corner of my lip, burning

against my teeth with each attempted

smile, crying protest against forks, spoons,

salty foods, citric foods, almost any foods at all.
Just a canker, a small hurt. A two or three day
private tormentor, ending each expression
with a minor wince, interrupting conversations,
mincing words, giving the wrong impression.
Swelling into the precision machinery of incisors
as molars grind steak to mush, giving rise to more
of its own: a half circle of white inflamed craters
atop a hillock of dark red tissue just inside
my mouth. It's a small hurt, laughable

perhaps, to the guy who doesn't have one.