Empty Space

I can feel the empty space in the back row,
The tip of my tongue glides through the void.
It’s been like this for a few years;
A foundation with no house.
A garage with no car.
A pot with no plant.
People can only see it if I cheese real big.
But sometimes I feel like it’s on display;
The truth exposed.
I figured I’d fix it eventually, but my wallet says otherwise.
”It’ll be $2k,” the honors graduate tells me as I lay,
Suspended in the operating chair.
”But that’s for parts, not labor.”

I’d rather stop smiling.