The Tooth Fairy On Welfare Poem by Chris Tusa

A sudden surge of boys
with their smiles punched out,
care of a local Tough Man contest.
It was all I needed
in that slow slug of an economy
to land on the pillow
of some poor jerk
with a mouthful of teeth
knocked out of his silly head.

It was early Autumn
and my hands were full
with the usual slew
of pimpled teenagers
plagued with gingivitis,
long evenings of haunting
nursing homes, hovering
gloriously over deathbeds, waiting
for the eternity of rotten teeth
to wiggle from black gums.

Let me be the first to tell you,
a welfare line is no place for a fairy.
Here, I’m just another dreg
living from check to check,
getting high on generic beer,
growing fat on government cheese,
my pretty feet sick to death
from standing in line.

These days, I’m up to my eyes
in food stamps. I pawned
my wings for a double-wide
with a California King,
spend my nights cruising
soup kitchens, crashing weddings.
All the magic has fizzled out
of my silver wand, my diamond
slippers have lost their shine.