David Welch has poems published or forthcoming in AGNI Online, Pleiades, and Quarterly West, among other journals. He lives in Chicago. Nevermind the Lightning David Welch That’s a waltz in your mouth, said the dentist. Don’t you light that in here—we can’t all keep time with our tongues like that. It isn’t fair. The tooth said, So what should I do? And the mouth said, Stay here. And the bridge on the eastern shore creaked as it shook a bit in the wind.                        • The dentist said, I built a bridge. Don’t eat anything larger than a tooth for a week. The mouth asked, Which tooth? You can choose, the dentist said. Out east, said the mouth, they have lobsters as small as molars. So you can eat lobster, the dentist said. If I choose to, said the mouth.                        • Said the tooth to the wind— I’m not without my sympathies for your loneliness. In the mouth, my only company is the tongue, which constantly wanders. I said wonders, the wind said— the sky is a mouth where the hawk-tongue wonders.                        • When the dentist introduced the drill to the tooth, he allowed a small wind to settle in, burrowing into the molar like a mole. Everything must have a home, the dentist said. Yes, said the mouth. I understand. Especially the wind, which is hollow like a tooth.                        • The wind, the mouth said, is a sort of waltz. It loses a step every third season. But a waltz takes a step back every second season. So a waltz is a sort of tongue, licking back over itself when it’s done. I can’t see that, the wind said. I can                        • see what you’re saying, the mouth said. It frightens me. I’m not always clear, said the wind. I’m sorry. You’re saying I hold my hands gingerly around the world like a waist. No, not at all, the mouth said. I’m saying I don’t think you’re gentle at all.                        • The dentist said, Here is a tooth. Look how smart you are, the bridge said, patting his head. Sometimes a tooth spends its whole life inside the mouth. I’m not so smart, the dentist said. The mouth is a field full of holes. Oh, said the wind—no. No, it’s not.