Roots

He stops drilling into the root canal because I raise my left hand
Trying my best to hold back a world’s worth of tears
This, he’s instructed, is the way to indicate I feel pain
he drilling ceases, and he eases in another needle full of Novocain
After a moment he asks if I can feel him tapping the tooth with a metal probe
“I do,” I say, so he pumps in another needle full of painkiller
And we wait
“Can you feel it now?” he asks, tapping again
“I can,” I say, so one more load goes in
And we wait again
“How about now?” he asks hopefully
“Yes, I can still feel it,” I answer, feeling guilty for not being sufficiently numbed now
“I can’t give you any more,” he says, shaking his head, the gaze of a failed dental magician
“So what do we do?” I ask
“We’ll have to try it again another day,” he says resignedly
Stunned by this news, I groan — I want this ordeal over already
“Go ahead and drill,” I say
“Are you sure?” he asks, giving me a look of skeptical sorrow
“Do it,” I say, “I’ve endured way more dental procedure pain than this”
And while the drill’s drone whirls on in my ears
All cries for help stay contained in my brain