The attempt here appears to be for a casual poem of perhaps slightly humorous bent, with a repeated final stanza line with the trochee “don’t show”. The poem progresses from an initial declaration of love and affection, based on a characteristic of physiognomy of the beholden, through the growth of that love over time, to the possibility of progeny, provided, of course, that they exhibit the same comely characteristics as the beloved.

The poem then turns darker, as the opportunity of impediments and events that could cloud the relationship are introduced, but are temporally triumphed over by a smile that does not compromise the parting of the lips.

In the last stanza, the reader is shown the end-state of the beloved. Here, “eyes aglow”, the beloved departs, smiling, lips ever together. This is at distinct opposition to the usual death mask: eyes closed, and mouth in a grinning rictus. What at first appears to be quiet parting farewell, is in fact a spooky commentary on the whole of the poem: the unbroken failure to display teeth at the end marks an uncanny presence, and leaves the reader both satisfying but slightly ashiver at the same time. What has begun in innocent faith and pleasure, ends in at least mock horror of the Other.

And thus, the poetic truth that emerges from this seemingly inconsequential set of stanzas is not that love and affection triumphs over all, but that a toothless smile invites into the discussion a counter warning by the grim reaper.

So that’s what results from Thinking Too Hard about the poem Your Teeth: a mortal warning about the dangers of a toothless smile. And should you care to compare the “you” of this poem, let’s be clear on one thing: the “you” here does not refer to my wife, whose teeth do show when she smiles. Quite brilliantly, in fact.