Tooth Pin

He clearly had a penchant for safety pins.

He would line them on his desk before he started work, before lunch, and if he forgot to carry his biscuits,

during four o’clock tea.

He kept them in his orange purse which was as wide as his office laptop

where he layered them in neat stacks of two and three.


Everyone was fascinated by the diversity of his pins.

There was a furry possum pin,

another was bubblegum pink and sticky to touch,

raindrop pin was in the shape of a bubble and

always left paper blotchy and wet.

Pizza pins, baguette pins, cupcake pins and cookie crumble

but his favourite, rather,

her favourite

that he came to love

was the tooth pin.


It was shaped like a canine and had small incisor teeth

at both ends

to clasp at each other

so that, when the pin was closed,

it looked like two sets of teeth in a toothlock.

Everytime she was by his desk, she would pick the pin and

place it between her teeth.

The sound of teeth against teeth made him squirmish but,

when she did it,

He found it absolutely adorable.