At age eleven, I bicycled far away from my Chicago home.
A bird followed me at a discrete aerial distance.
My last, holdout baby tooth dropped to the ground
twenty-two miles from home on the Illinois Prairie Path.
The bird swooped down and snatched up my lost tooth.
I watched the bird fly until it was a black speck, then disappear.
I wondered if this scene was worthy of its own mythology.
I wondered what the tooth faerie would deliver to the bird’s nest.
To mark the occasion, I ate a Snickers bar.
I washed the snickers bar down with a can of Coke.
Looking back at my childhood sugary appetite,
I am amazed my baby teeth did not rot and fall out sooner.
My plan was to bicycle to the Rocky Mountains.
I thought I should have crossed the Mississippi River by noon.
copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney