A waiting room
with palpable tension --
skin stretched tight over knuckles
on hands that grip
a seat that refuses to become a spaceship
to fly me away


A dentist's office
with sinister tools
whose cheery silver gleam cannot hide the fact
that they will soon excavate my gums
as the chair mockingly reclines
like a menacing Barca lounger;

and then

A living room
infested by self-pity and an aching mouth and Jenny Jones
while I clamp down a bleeding jaw
on a once-pure square of gauze
and sit on a couch
that envelops me in comfort I don't notice
as I attend to my complaining mouth.

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