My teeth were sent to outer space,
as part of some experiment with dogs
and several poker-playing cosmonauts.
Now I have a growing taste for Mars bars,
starfish,moon pies, sun drieds and plutonium,
which tastes like Tang. An old NASA joke.
At night I feel them orbiting my bed
and in my head they vibrate,
conditioned by their mission.
When I smile, some people call me "lunar"
or "mercurial." But just a few White Russians
and I’m flush for liftoff, re-entry and splashdown
in the dental sea of tranquility.