Thursday, 8 October 2015

National Poetry Day

The palpable tension of worried souls,
Perched gloomily on the edge of their seats,
Putrefying teeth with so many holes,
Receptionist cold with people she meets,
My god! What is that awful aroma?
The harsh glare of the man in front of me,
Could he possess a poorer persona?
The terrible piercing noise, it must be,
the high pitched screeching of the dentist’s drill,
Where’s the gum? I need to watch my own breath,
This patchwork has failed, it’s time to refill,
After this day I feel closer to death,
I think I deserve an explanation,
Why? Oh Why? Did I choose this vocation?