Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

Dental Hygienist

No matter how I have flossed like a mad woman,
the hygienist gives me an outraged stare
with shaming weight, as she jams the thread into soft flesh,
blood all over her hands like Lady Macbeth.
Slowly, she scrapes and irrigates,
and for the way she does all that,
she thinks she deserves infinite praise,

Yet,she is a humming bird, quite talkative
of things far off like the moon,
people I know nothing about, a lost woman,
her niece, and her winged dreams.

Her words ebb and flow, ethereal,
to sway the mind toward calm,
so I close my eyes and imagine my incisors
as pebbles, bone-white, on a beach,
sparkling with salt water and hot sun,
with the surf, speaking in tongues.
And the touch of this magician
makes me stick a poem inside my teeth.

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Prompt: Teeth, dental reference, dream of missing teeth...