Poetic Interlude XXXIX

Root Canal
A nervous fit comes over me
As I lay in the chair –
The tray of shiny silver toys
Fill me with despair.
Explosion, pain: And that’s the truth –
They have to fix this fucking tooth.
A cough – the nurse, in scrubs and gloves,
A mask in hands displayed.
She snips and clips my features back,
As though my face is flayed,
She grabs a knob – a sudden hiss,
And I’m in rhapsodies of bliss.
I giggle softly as the nurse,
Slides the needle in,
I smile as the taste of mint
Absolves me of my sin,
The ghosts of all that I love best,
Cluster, and compress my chest.
A glimpse from out the corner eye
Enthralls attention then:
Some twisted Lovecraft Elder God
(it’s non-Euclidian) –
It slithers close, the drill goes “WHEEEEE!”
A mouth pinned open cannot scream.
Then all my crimes return to me,
And karma carves its price
Out of tender cheek-meat, and
It slurps up every slice.
A gunshot, as of suicide:
An eldritch voice says “Open wide”.
The stars explode; my eyes go dark:
Stilletos in my gums.
Those clumsy fingers rend my flesh
(I clearly am not numb)
I writhe and rail against the ghosts,
Quoth the Dentist: “Down the dose”.
©2013 by Tyler J. Yoder. All rights reserved
Like this poem? Root Canal, and many poems like it, are available in my slim book of poetry, Patchwork Narrative, available for sale here.


About Ty DeLyte

Madame DeLyte has suffered a grave disappointment - YET AGAIN - and still believes that freedom, beauty, and truth are what's valuable, rather than vulgar cash. He'd add love to that list - but, well, what can he say about love?
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