Numb

I’ve lived in Madison three years without a teeth cleaning
The dentist, between grunts, tells me I must do this more often
Because it you don’t to this regularly, he yanks hard
Removing the plaque becomes difficult
I stare up at his John Lennon glasses, his long hair tied back
And think about this flower child mining my teeth
As if you could claw away the way to achieving world peace
Love and tie-dye being far from my mind
As my head jerks fitfully while he picks and pulls
Like Jimi Hendrix shredding a guitar
The drain tube of his suction wand run gritty red
With blood and bits of petrified food
My eyes watering as tears leak out
Against my faltering iron will

He tells me I have a cavity, a big one
So he’ll have to numb me up
I explain I need to open the record store shorty
So I’ll need to be able to speak to customers
He repeats this one’s abysmally deep
The tone of his voice suggesting
It will be like excavating the Grand Canyon
I point out the depth of my other fillings
And tell him I’ve never had Novocain in my life
In his eyes I see wonder and fear
As the drill begins its hymn to agony
Waxing operatic as he drills, and drills, and drills
Did that hurt? he asks, shaking from his Herculean effort
Very much, I say, but I’m used to it