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God bless the dentists, all of them,
    Who carefully tend our teeth.
They know about our cavities
    And secrets down beneath.

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Mine’s always pleased to see me:
    'Can you open really wide?
I want to see what’s lurking
    So let’s have a probe inside.'

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I’m in his chair, mouth open wide.
    Escape?  I dare not try.
So it’s now he asks a question
    And expects me to reply?

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He sets about the task in hand
    And show’s he’s very willing
To track that hidden cavity
    And replace it with a filling.
 
He’s got me anchored to his seat.
    He’s ready to attack!
Thank God it’s not a filling –
    He’s just working on the plaque.

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My check’s complete, the polish done!
   You‘ll know just how I’m feeling.
He’s finished now, it’s time to flee.
   My eyes can leave his ceiling.

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'We’ll see you back in six months’ time!' -
      How can I feel a thrill
When the appointment is for three of us:
      Him, me and his big drill?

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Copyright on all my poems

 

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