Six months later – time again:
Have to check those teeth.
Pure bravado – make the call;
Fear is underneath.
X-rays easy, what a breeze!
‘Til the tools appear.
Mr. Thirsty hooks my mouth –
I hope I persevere.
Hygienist pokes and digs;
I close my eyes and suffer.
She thinks that some numbing gel
Will be sufficient buffer.
But it’s not – and so I try
To concentrate instead
On anything but where I am,
Enduring what I dread.
All right – I guess I could floss more,
But hey – it’s my decision!
So every six months I must face
Ms. Hygiene’s stark derision.
But finally, I rinse and spit;
She’s gotten all her kicks.
I’m told to come back in three months,
But I say – make it six!
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how hard is this to do?
ReplyDeletehow do you pick the theme?
is it forced or is it true?
or disjointed like a dream?
do you agonize or is it play
to come up with a poem a day?
it's fun, it's play, it gets me high;
ReplyDeleteand always, it's the truth.
it's bubbling in my blood and brain -
it's who i am - forsooth! (forgive me, willy s.)