The Dentist

The Dentist

A dentist as old as a fossil, so thin, he looked like a bunch of bones layered with stretched skin.
His greasy hair rimmed around the atmosphere of a glossy finish, so senile that dentistry seemed to vanish.
He walked around with a few strands of gray hair coming from his ears, nose, and chin. Something one doesn't notice on other men.
Sometimes they'd say that one could smell the whiskey on his breath, but when that faded, one could smell the hidden scent of death.
He loved making people squirm in their chairs from agony and pain, while he grinned with sweat dripping off his face like rain.
Stains filled his white work coat from previous patients, who now wish they never made his acquaintance.
He lived with a dull and weary personality.
Staying drunk became his reality.
His equipment, as old as the hills, reserving a room for all his bills.
The rooms were small, taken over by dust, and everything metal was covered in rust.
For a small fee, he tried to help in many ways, then he would have you to come back for months of several days.
He didn't appear as one of your regular dentist scholars, his painful habits, hardly worth a dollar.
One wouldn't think of him to be a good dentist, never, but once upon a time, he was the best dentist ever.

Bridget Maiden