American Dentist
"You'll floss your teeth, you'll brush your teeth
Four times a day," he said.
"Hand over all those scary sweets
you hide under your bed.
They fight your teeth, they bite your teeth.
They give you gum diseases.
My pretty patient will obey
my orders, if she pleases.
This pitchfork, sharp and flashing bright,
would like to kindly scratch
your teeth of dirty, sinful sweets
that stealthily attach
their rude, apocalyptic claws
to innocent enamel.
My pretty patient mustn't stall!
Her breath smells like a camel."
I listened, frozen smiling,
nodding smiling, smiling nodding
laughing frozen, as the laughing gas
lay all its weight on me,
the sweeter smell of painted teeth,
their solid, polished luster,
the dentist swiping secret stashes,
dancing with a sugar rush,
a ghost dropped down my throat,
evaporating reservoirs of hidden sin,
contaminating the angels
who give didactic speeches on
purity.
I smell a camel overhead.
His teeth are holey green.
He's proud of him; he's done no sin.
My teeth are white and clean.
Copyright © Carolyn Dewey | Year Posted 2019
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