The Dentist

‘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.