Bridge

Image: Pixabay

The dentist has been drilling
deep inside my mouth
readying the pier holes
for a bridge from north to south.

My blissful gum’s been sleeping
through the whining and the fuss
but my thoughts are asking, Will it be
a bridge of beam or truss?

Maybe it will be a drawbridge
with spans that raise and lower.
Or a bridge that gives my chewing help
because it’s double decker?

Or suspension rope creation?
Cantilever or pontoon?
Will my mouth be full of cables?
Will I look like a cartoon?

© 2017 by Violet Nesdoly (All rights reserved)

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I’m not sure why this poem jumped out at me from my stash. Perhaps because yesterday morning I got a text from my dentist, reminding me of an upcoming appointment. Or perhaps it’s because it’s “Take your poet to work” week and dentistry is definitely a type of work (for the doctor and the patient, I would say).

Thankfully, the bridge in my mouth is inconspicuous, as is most work done by dentists these days… and painless too (aside from the wallet).

This poem is linked to Poetry Friday, hosted today by  The Logonauts.