...Cavities...

I have come to the 

brutal conclusion 

that she  does not like me.

That her every action is 

premeditated and 

meant to deliver 

the utmost of agony.

That she is determined to 

bring me to the pinnacle 

of excruciating pain,    

and I…  I barely know her.

Oh, I can understand how 

she might not find me adorable,

for contrary to popular belief,

I am not easy to love.

(Not for less than 

   twenty dollars anyway)

 

Anyway,   no.

I do not expect her to

leap-frog love to lust in 

less than twenty minutes,

but neither did I expect the

zero to sixty race to hate 

she has herewith traveled.

What could I have done?

What could I have said to have 

brought her to this 

level of sadistic fervor?

 

Blood lust?   No, 

there’s really no lust involved here.

Blood     yes.

There’s plenty of blood.

It pools there at the back of my throat,

but this and the fact that now and then

I emit the faintest gurgling sound

   means very little    to her.

What care has she of 

my heightened discomfort?

 

Here in this specialized chair

with glaring light above,

there is no compassion to be found, 

for she…   She is my 

own personal Dental Hygienist.

She  is my mistress of pain.

 

And it is here I find myself 

Pondering all the fine print 

I may have overlooked when 

I signed the contract with this

particular dental establishment.

 

I sorta figure the letters ‘S’ and ‘M’

should have been in 

a somewhat bolder font.

Oh, I’d raise my hand to address

what I feel is a question 

of legal clarification,

but at the moment she’s got 

a stainless steel dental pick 

buried deep between two of my 

all time favorite teeth

and I’m just  not   

too keen    to    distract her.

 

Okay.   Straight-up question here:

Do you think there’s any connection 

between the ‘D’ of Dental Hygienist

and the ‘D’ of a     Dominatrix?

Oh, not that she’s truly aware

that she’s being a     said    dominatrix.

Could all very well be     subconscious. 

Could be that my    being a man 

might somehow equate to 

each of my teeth being   also manly.

And that every manly tooth

represents some miserable 

jerk from her past who     

did her wrong.

 

Up there in the front 

she’s working an incisor.

And ain’t that the guy 

who asked her to the prom 

but came to stand her up 

at the very last minute?

Oh yea. 

Gotta get some dental pick action

   on THAT one. 

And knuckles  go white

as my fingertips gouge grooves 

into the vinyl armrests.

 

What about that canine tooth 

   just to the right…

Ain’t that the son of a bitch 

from the office party who told her 

the only way to get ahead

   was to give it?

And she scrapes the tip of the pick

sharply down the length of enamel

and into the gum line.

 

Next she moves to a nearby molar.

One that I have always thought of as

   “My Sweet Tooth”. 

And she? No.   Not quite.

She sees it    as something else.

Indeed, she sees the face 

   of her first husband.

He who came home late one night

and introduced something venereal

   into their    loving   relationship.

Oh, and how did THAT happen, huh?

 

Yes, there the pick’s metallic tip

levers into the tooth’s tender root.

And I notice that someone in the room 

   is moaning.

I figure there’s a pretty good chance 

   it’s me.

 

What’s that there in the back?

Some dark and horrid cavity? 

The man who currently shares her bed?

The man who just last night,

   knocked her sprawling 

   over the coffee table?

The man who loomed above her 

the way she now looms  over me?

That him? 

Is that cavity       him?

 

And me? 

What about me?

 

Just like her,

I   only want to be loved, 

   but let’s face it.

I’m a man 

and probably deserve

 

everything I get.

 

©08 Jack David Hubbell