At the Dentist’s Office

At the dentist’s office, he asked where the bathroom was

when he saw the dental hygienist begin to make a fuss,

 

and dismissively point him toward the way

and without missing a beat officiously did say,

she was ready for him now so don’t delay,

 

so he hurried into the bath and out again, lickety-split

and jumped in the chair before Frau Blucher had a fit.

 

She whipped the bib around his neck and throat

and yanked so hard he wanted to scream, “You old goat!”

 

But she had her hands buried in his mouth

faster than he could plead, “Please let me out.”

 

She rubbed and scrubbed never taking a moment to chat.

Small talk was not her forte; she wanted none of that.

 

She pushed and pulled the floss like a saw between his teeth

and announced that soon he could take his six month leave,

 

but first she demanded that before he came back,

he must do better at attacking the plaque.

 

With his sweat dripping from his brow and over his teeth

he shook his head affirmatively and jumped out of the seat.

 

As he fled the office and made a quick run for his auto,

Frau Blucher shouted “Whose next?” “Get in here pronto!”

 

Six months would fly by way too fast to give another thrill

to the sadistic, Nazi hygienist with on her face a smile and

in her hand a big drill.

 

 

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