At the Dentist

---

Probing beady eyes 
Slip syrup and ceramic
Past the chap lipped mouth 
of an unsuspecting mind 
who's avoided a visit 
For many a year.

Dodging the tongue worm
With metal prongs and 
Tiny vacuums 
they stare with concentration 
that feels just as tense 
As your arms and legs

A constant game of 
forgetting to relax 
While you wonder if moths
will birth themselves 
From all those little cotton balls.

And at certain moments
When you catch your reflection 
in the light
Or smell that special smell
From the drill 
you can pretend 
That they are aliens

The only ones 
who will ever truly know 
Your teeth.