I thought about composing a structured poem about the dentist because that of course is funnier but I'm hardly that brilliant; here's a free verse poem instead:
The Dentist
Sitting in rows
of chairs lined up next to tables strewn with
magazines.
They call my name and I eagerly step forward;
Leading me briskly to a cubicle somewhere
in the back, the hygenist chats but
I am distracted by her pink and neon green
smock. A cleaning, she says;
I lean back and let her run instrument after
instrument through my teeth whirring
and polishing.
She continues to chat, telling me
about her son who has a 3.0 and turns
his nose up at the thought of going to NOVA.
It's so competitive out there, she says, I gargle
in agreement.
Shaking her head, she points at the dark spot on
number 13 (I assume that's one of my teeth) in
the x-ray. I floss everyday! My protest is
muffled by the cotton swabs cramming my cheeks.
The dentist comes in. He flashes me a handsome grin with
white teeth; he has a practice to keep after all.
Tutting at number 13, he tells his hygenist to take note of an
MO and some other secret code that I know not
how to decipher.
A cavity, he drums with gravity. I don't mind waiting so
I return to the waiting room with my goody bag
of floss that has fluoride in it.
If you have any critique on this, I would greatly appreciate it!
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