Tuesday, November 24, 2009

The Sore Tooth

At the uber-sanitized office of the dentist
Minding my own arching business
Steeling myself for the eminent torture
A mysterious huntress with a crooked pursuit
Invades the serene quarters
Mischief spelt all over her facade
Long legged
Swaying hip
She screeches to a practised stop
And unloads her wobbling behind
Unto the seat right opposite me
Then proceeds to undo a button of her blouse
To let provocative boobs to hang
The teasing lips
The Polluting eyes
Right in my face
Now I am in need of something more than dentistry
My Spirit
My soul
My core
All scream out
Remove this sore tooth
Right now

6 comments:

sunnyside said...

nice poem but you might need to exlain what the poet meant

Myne Whitman said...

LOL, nice imagery. I like it...

Nana Yaw Asiedu said...

Nice, lovely dentist's office. Maybe I should not postpone my next visit for so long. But, what if I'm not as lucky...

posekyere said...

Hahaha NY.
You call that torture luck?
I went there because I had a toothache, I could not bring myself to understand why she was there in the first place.
Everybody in that office was clearly incensed by the out-of-place show put up by the drama queen. It was weird!

posekyere said...

Thanks MW!
Trust me you would not have loved what actually took place that day.

posekyere said...

Yes sunnyside.
I guess a couple of typos muddled the whole piece.
I think it is now clear after the correction.
Bless you.