fountain

I remember the spit-fountain
in my father’s dental boutique
staring down at the circular drain
spitting hoping it was almost over
his gentle hands wielding mysteries
of pain and precision and finally relief

lying back in the hard barbershop chair
I used to wonder if the same company made
both scrolled fantasies of wrought iron
and black leatherette a place to fix your face
your teeth your smile and as he stirred in pestle
the silver-mercury amalgum I would years later
pay to have replaced by less poisonous acrylic
we would have a moment of bonding closer
more intimate than anything else in our lives
his soft warm fingers in my mouth.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordcurrents/ Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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2 Responses to fountain

  1. gudgey says:

    Nice… At least we get to watch movies together Pops. Err I guess those grammar lessons could make a good poem. Maybe a bit of rhyme might cheer things up here.
    Ummm poisonous silver mercury
    get ya outta the chair in a hurry
    Spitting hoping it was almost over
    looked over at a four leaf clover

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