"hygienist" poems
A VISIT TO THE DENTIST
The Green Mile to
The Chair
The snap of hygienist’s latex gloves, then
Scraping, scritching, spitting blood
“Only one” gaping hole
no matter how much chocolate I eschewed
in favor of chewing Trident
(I’m *******
The Dentist
My personal Olivier, and I, his Dustin.
Needle. Lets it set in.
The drill, the smile of the sadist
squealing torture, my mouth on the rack
I CAN FEEL PAIN
but it comes out, “owiusmmorsoss”
(“ow, I want some more shots!”)
Another shot.
I press on: “LA. The 70s. I did more than this for fun.”
Reluctantly, another shot. And another.
As the drill grinds and keens
I pull out my secret weapon – how could I forget?
This is why God
invented the IPod
May 27, 2010
May 27, 2010 at 7:45 PM UTC
my mother was a dental hygienist and dad thinks he's an architect
which means i'm used to sharpened stainless steel exploring the interior of my jawbone and lying to my father to let him keep believing he built me from the ground up.
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 6:28 AM UTC
You're peering out for Sunshine
a cascade like yellow Dust falls.
The cavities will fill in time, enough for a Stadium.
The Pro-biotic yoghurt in your Duffel bag
is no longer ship shape,
a green mould from somewhere else is seeping.
I swear something has to give.
Your only defence a Swiss Army knife,
somehow speckless from your childhood draw.
Later the Night sky begins to crackle
like you knew before.
Your only thought Mary
the local dental hygienist you fell in love for.
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 12:19 PM UTC
As boredom swallows each of my parts whole,
with every one goes a slice of joyful time.
To me will come a trepidation bowl,
which transforms into soreness I rhyme.
This poem seems to relish misery
that I do not appreciate greatly.
It drills and grinds away at patience’s teeth
alike an overpaid dentist stately.
The unskilled hygienist throws up her tools,
because the very poem is persistent
like a tenacious patient with strict rules
to whom floss is extremely resistant.
This sonnet, while providing me with grief,
becomes a fight of pain, with no relief.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 2:15 PM UTC