In the Dentist's Chair

In Jazzercise we danced to a song with lyrics that included, "I can't feel my face when I'm with you, but I love it," by the band The Weeknd. During class we laughed about how it might be about alcohol or drugs instead of love, but I just thought of the dentist. Beginning with the seven cavities I had at age 8, I've spent many hours in the dentist's chair feeling numb (and uncomfortable, I might add). When I can't feel my face, it's because I'm still feeling the effects of novocain. My main hope is that I don't drool in public! Here's a poem about how I feel about that chair:

One eleven over seventy-two

after a few deep breaths

cool as the rotating fan

on a back patio

a rolling wave

like the pool you found

in Phoenix

or the hot showers you took

to fool yourself

into sweat,

damp as the windows

in your station wagon

when you turned up the heat,

Or like gutter running

past the house

with the concrete flower pots 

to the barber shop

where you saw the wall of rain.

“They shaded the sidewalks in Tombstone,”

you say, wiping a drop

of saliva from the corner of a mouth

like thirsty dry mucous on a preacher’s lip

a sick hunger sliding

onto a neat beard that might

(after a few deep breaths)

bring it closer to God.