PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

1

Underneath D'Agomery's lower lip, right at its top edge, a

lump had begun to assemble itself---slowly, unnoticeably at

first until it had acquired a palpable girth and firmness that

his tongue could easily detect (and, having detected it,

was constantly probing it, even when D'Agomery was

otherwise distracted by constant work or rarer pleasure.

His mother, long dead and not particularly lamented,

called such oral growths "canker sores," and had

recommended several curative substances or actions---

primary, of which, was her double admonition not to

gnaw on his lips (a habit he had cultviated since

childhood) or to linger in the summer sunlight too long.

D;Agomery was too busy at his job---supervisor of a

team of telephone representatives in a rather large,

corporate call center which, like all others of its

kind of species, was a rather inocuous manifestation of

all the horrors of Hell except the singing flames and

chewing worms.  He was also too cheap to pay a

dentist for consultation, removal, and aftercare;

prefering, rather, to expect it to diminish and

then unobtrusively dissolve in the same manner that it

had formed.  But this did not happen according to

his wishes or exoectation:  the subcutaneous

object seemed to enlarge---slightly but definitely---

such that he became increasingly aware of it, and,

upon smiling broadly (a most rare gesture for

him, given both his personality and corporate

responsibilities as a first-line supervisor), he

felt it distinctly, just under the surface, and, in

certain ways, causing him to feel as if his lip had

been stretched to its physical limit.  After some

consideration of the matter, D'Agomery concluded that

decisive action must be taken, and taken immediately.

Such logical resolve was one of the hallmarks of

his managerial style---as when, not long ago, he

objected, and put an end, to the habit of the

call center's phone representatives (mostly the

younger ones, just out of high school or

twenty-somethings, those whom he privately

described as "the boys and girls") began to

walk around the facility (on breaks, lunches, or

even to centerwise meetings, or those interminable

team meetings that were ostentatiously called

"huddles") shoeless---flaunting their bare

feet, or their stripey socks, or their very

sheer nylons in the most presumptively casual

manner, as if the most natural thing in the

world.  Well, not in his call center; not in this

corporation; and, just as much, not under the

upper edge of his lower lip.  D'Agomery intended to

resolve the issue personally, in the comfort of

his own bathroom, where the tapwater flowed

warmly, and the medicane cabinet was well

stocked with all manner of useful items.  On the

same afternoon that he had to tell that queer

looking kid, Troyan (he of the cascades of

long hair and baggy, bell-bottom jeans---with no

pride in his appearance whatsoever) for the

umpteenth time to put his damn socks and shoes on,

D'Agomery promised himself that tonight was a

fortuitous time to address the lump continued to

keep, and expand, it residence in his lower lip.

2

Entering his well-lit, and very fashinoably

appointed bathroom, D'Agomery gathered

together an asortment of cotton swabs, paper

tissues (suitable for both a snotty nose or a

profusely bleeding lip), and a spare specimen

cup (deftly filched, months ago, from his

primary physician's cabinet while alone in the

examination room) into which he would spit the

offending tumor once he had, with his teeth,

dug into the skin and loosened the interloper

within it.  Some antiseptic analgesic ointment

was availble so smear onto the point of contact,

which he did, and which would be required

again once the initial bleeding had clotted and

subsided.  When the lip felt sufficiently

numb to receive, without too much pain, a

ferociously hard bite of his front teeth,

D'Agomery inhaled deeply and bit down as hard, as

fiercely, and as accurately as he was able.  His

tongue tasted the blood before his lip felt its

flow; and also, the tumor had seemed to move---

but this movement had seemed, almost, like a

deliberate avoidance of his effort (or, at

least, the effect of his effort).  Several

shreds of skin clung precariously to his lip;

these he yanked away with the one of the

tissues, so that the area was clean for

another attempt.  In the moments that

remainered to his conscious existence,

however, the next sequence of events were

not only unexpected, but shockingly

disturbing.  Before he could clamp that

lip between his teeth, and bear down in

order to sever as much tissue as possible (this

being the only way he could imagine to

isolate and remove the tumor), he felt a

movement---neither of his body or his

conscientous intention---and then the

tumor, reared up like a cornered beast just

within his eyes lowest line of site.  He

noticed that it lacked eyes, or any kind of

facial features, and limbs:  it seemed to

be only a toothsome mouth, which it suddenly

revealed to him, a puny body, and a long,

long tail with which it had acnhored itself

within D'Agomery's lower lip.  With its own

mouth, or what passed for a gaping mouth (full of

razor sharp teeth), the tumor lunged toward

his face.  As finely formed and sharpened as

those teeth were, their first attack upon

D'Agomery's face was not immediately painful,

given the fineness of their sharp edges.  The

tumor, apprently, had some sense of an

instinct for survival; and, after having

secured its own survival, it fled (the

means for which have never been determined),

and was never seen---or, let us say,

positively identified, again.

3

Serving a quaint suburb, as he did, Mister

Grovner thought of himself, simply, as the

town's undertaker.  The term and title

Funeral Direcotr discomfited him; he humbly

believed it to be rather pompous, and,

perhaps, a kind of verbal device to

distance or shield the holder of it from a

family's unimpeded grief, like a curtain of

dignity drawn across the afternoon glare of

raw, sorrowful emotion for a loved one

never to be seen again.  But, whether an

undertaker or a funeral director, Mister

Grovner felt entirely inadequate when

viewing, for the first time, the corpse of

D'Agomery.  The most thorough experience of

mortuary school---with the finest grades and a

most powerful ability to retain facts and

useful techniques and procedures---could not

have prepared him for this extremest of

cases.  "Closed casket," he muttered to

his assistant, "no other possibility.

"I can rebuild or repair a damaged face,

"but I cannot replace one that is so

"utterly shredded as to be entirely missing."

Starward