The Poem About the Object in the Bag

By Paul Roever

Bleached yellowed teeth,
Looking strangely separated from the rest.
An arrowhead-shaped gap, where the nose should be.
And finally, two apricot-sized holes,
That once were a means of drinking in the world’s sights and colors.
All of these things comprise the skull in front of me.

It is a strange thought,
That this grotesque, gleaming piece of bone,
Was once a regular person like me.
Perhaps that is because a skull is oft associated with horrors,
And death.

There is something about the toothy grin,
And the detached way it stares into nowhere
That makes it inhuman,
And yet,
We know it was human.