Wednesday Poetry Blogging

For a time, in the early 90's, I was the poet laureate of dental extractions.

I was gifted with two lower wisdom teeth.  No wisdom up above.  Make of that what you will. My daughter wound up with three - for a while.

 
Here is a real-life event, recorded more or less as it happened - given an uncertain amount of poetic license. "Spoiled Brat," referring to my daughter, was an inside family joke at the time.*

Karen In The Chair

The outlook wasn't brilliant for the impact three that day:
They were destined for eviction from their cozy hideaway.
To leave them there would be unwise. There's trouble they could cause:
Like pressure on the molars, or infections of the jaws.


Their fate was to be broke' up, like a would be double play;
Yanked out like a pitcher on a sad, bad spit-ball day;
Then thrown out like a runner who can't quite steal that base;
Because we have the wisdom now to help Karen save face.


Those who preceded Karen in this Wise Dentistry
Related their pained mem'ries of extraction misery.
So our stricken spoiled brat was faced with grim despair,
And now we had to take our chance with Karen in the chair.


The X-rays had uncovered Karen's outlaw band of three.
We were struck with wonder at her wise asymmetry.
What wisdom could explain her ab'rant oral geometry?
No doubt a cursed remnant of her strange heredity.


There was ease in Karen's manner, quiet dignity and grace.
The procrastinator's blessing kept the smile upon her face.
Responding to our questions she just sang a happy tune.
"Oh, yes," she said, "I'll worry, but not one minute too soon."


She put off the appointment, willing wise to wait
But was unable to avoid the setting of the date.
"Any other day will do," she said through clenched teeth.
"But let's not undertake this job on Friday the thirteenth."


Ol' Doc said, "You've got your nerve, it branches there within,
One fork tiptoes to your tongue, the other to your chin.
You may feel a tingling in the tip before we're through,
But it shouldn't be a problem for someone as young as you."

So Thursday came: the right day for advancing oral health.
Ol' Doc glanced at the calendar, saw that it was the twelfth.
He opened up his tool box and surveyed the power there;
Put on his mask and goggles; escorted Karen to the chair.


Ol' Doc offered goof balls, Mickey Finns, and laughing gas.
Karen said, "I will not whine, my jaw's not made of glass.
But just so I won't feel it, and will not have to pout,
We would both be better off if you just put me out."


They needled her a little bit. We know this girl is tough.
But it was the consensus that a local's not enough.
So our stricken spoiled brat was saved from grim despair
As she drifted off to slumber in his not-so-easy-chair.


And now the latex covered hands into her mouth did slip.
Drug sleep drooped in Karen's eye, a clamp curled Karen's lip.
There with wrench and pliers, drill and hammer, brace and saw,
"I can dig it," Ol' doc said, while working at her jaw.


The clamp has fled from Karen's lip, her teeth have extra room.
Her swollen cheeks are packed with gauze, her head is filled with gloom.
Amid the fragments, smoke, and gore her Wisdom headed South;
We know a molar victory was won there in her mouth.


Oh, somewhere in this favored land a smile is shining bright;
A girl is eating apples, not chicken soup and yogurt light;
And somewhere steaks are sizzling, 'taters crunch and diners shout;
But there's no chewing in our house--Karen's Wisdom was struck out.

___________________________
* Spoiled? OK. Yeah. Probably. Brat, though? Not so much.

A few hours after the surgery, she was helping me move furniture.