Dentist Appointment

you lay back / uncomfortable / in a sterile chair. counting

clock beats / heart beats / till / end / of / session. he hovers

above like / falcon / or maybe vulture / picking / at the dead

animal / in your mouth. carrion eating decay / he fills his plate.

he talks statistics / studies / about racial inequalities in oral /

practices. about how brown and black / people / decaying birds in his

hands / are more likely to suffer / from diseases. he cites lack of

access / to quality practices, lack of proper / education. no money to

pay / for vulture feasts / no space on their tables / for his plate.

you don’t know / if anything he is saying / is true. 

you don’t know why / he is telling you. 

what you do know / is that you change your 

toothbrush / every month / because sometimes you 

scrub / so hard / bristles turn split hairs. that your 

mouth turns / roadkill / ant-filled / sun-bleached. 

words you thought you / choked back / lie in wait 

‘til you / scrub their corpses / out. that you still 

have / cavities / waiting / for morning / to come.

what you do know / is that his fingers / 

white-gloved / dig between your / 

crooked teeth. drain stopper / appendages / halting 

spiralling responses. bite backs. he goes 

/ too far / and you gag. he apologises / so 

it’s like nothing / happened. it’s like no / thing 

/ EVER / happens.

you’ve never / swallowed / therapy / 

but wonder / if it all tastes / the same. 

feels like white / gloves poking and 

gagging and / sucking out bone marrow 

and / twisting each word you / vomit / 

into a / statistic / about brown / people 

and a / percentage of your / pain. 

your dentist tells you / to 

book another / appointment 

in three / months / time and 

to stop / scrubbing your gums

 / raw. he licks / his plate / 

clean / and offers / no / cup to

spit / out / what he’s left / behind.