Stuffed to capacity, cheeks
extend impossibly
to accommodate fifty mines:
primed, spherical,
set to explode on impact. Teeth
fly to teeth. Chatter
damped by centrifugal juice,
spurting everywhere – but mostly
in the right directions:
down the throat, up
the sinuses. Distilling
joyful liquid in tear ducts,
adding grape sugar
to sebaceous glands,
and a squirt, or two,
in the onlooker’s jealous eye,
down his new shirt. The sap
drains, the teeth unclench.
Lubricated muscles power a smile.
The gullet gurgles, and tears flow.