My teeth chatter

How's this
for modern dentistry?
Stem cells injected
into the gums,
tooth buds that grew
into teeth
that learned to talk
at the age of two.

They keep me up at night
like girls
at a sleepover.
Titter, titter, titter
all night long.

And complain..?
Talk about a toothache...
One doesn't like hot,
another hates cold.
Tylenol, ibuprophin, aspirin
don't do a thing.

Harry, I'm hungry,
left bottom molar says.
Harry, I'm thirsty,
right upper canine begs.
No soda pop! no candy!
the wisdom teeth advise.

I thought this would be
better than dentures,
better than implants,
better than root canals.

But I'm headed back
to the dentist.
It's time
to get them pulled.
Last night they told Mona,
they didn't like her curry.
Too spicy, one said.
Too mild, another chimed in.
Make up your mind, Harry,
Mona complained.

I have a small wooden box.
When they are removed
I will keep them there.
I'll call it my chatterbox.
If ever I want to be reminded
that I should have listened
to my parents,
should have brushed
three times a day
and flossed after every meal,
I will crack open the lid and listen
to my teeth complain.