‘Hello Mister Thompson, please can you take a chair!’
‘This one?’ I asked. She said, ‘no that one over there!’
Now I’m sure I heard a scream, or was is just a shout?
Should I ask the receptionist what the commotion’s all about?
Oh, there goes the drill, the high pitched shrill I hate,
It’s doing nothing for my nerves, I’m resigned to my fate.
‘Mister Thompson’ is the call ‘please follow me this way!’
It's the point where I now need to pray?
The light in my eyes, disconcerting as such,
This whole dentist this is getting far too much.
The dentist tries to engage in some idle chatter
But I cannot reply so the dialogue doesn’t matter.
‘Now this might hurt a little’ I am told with a smirk,
I grimace a little bit but it’s only knee jerk.
With my lip all frozen I’m a slavering mess
All part and parcel of the treatment I guess.
It’s all over in what seems to be hours
I can relax now, there’s no need to cower.
A swill of the liquid dribbles all down my chin
And I’m talking as if I’ve just hit the gin!
The dentist’s not my favourite place, you can tell
By this rendition of my living hell
But I’ll keep my gnashers for another few years
It’s a fair exchange for conquering my fears.
Copyright © Ronald D Thompson | Year Posted 2020
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