Like a Dentist

The staircase only goes to the second floor, but when I look up from the bottom
I see eternity stretch out before me, like a long, sharp probe
Breathless at the top, thanks to smoking, I creak open the frosted glass door into a dark reception room
There are several spindly chairs on a bare black vinyl floor, and a rickety table with several worn magazines
I’ve put off the dreaded dentist search since I moved from Honolulu to Madison
But knowing I have a cavity, I finally chose this one only because his office is close to my apartment
A little light glows through a second frosted glass door where I assume he waits for me
I knock, the door swings open, and he’s a tall, thin man with a wild beard, John Lennon glasses, and hair tied back in a pony tail
His smock is made of a multi-colored semi-tie-dye cloth
Jimi Hendrix plays in the background
He invites me to sit and laughing says, “Lanning Lee, that’s, like, a very unique name, man”
I explain the origin while he listens intently, smiling and nodding
“You know, my very first patient, just minutes after I hung out my shingle was a Lee with a very cool name, too:  Shektor”
“That’s my cousin,” I say, “he went to school here as well”
“Wow,” my new dentist says, “it’s, like, a very small world, yeah”
“Yeah,” I agree, knowing I’m going to like it here