These Are My JOTtings, Part #2

Adventures in Dentistry

Too often dentists' drills I've heard,
after the pinch of Novocaine.
The teeth were crooked. O my word.
The metal came of braces fame.

Before the braces, wisdom teeth
"We must extract to make some room."
Two molars on that day caused grief
as sleep fled in the night of doom.

The braces came at 24.
My future wife I met 'bout then.
She took me with my rails and more,
a funny face, and cheeky grin.

But after days of straightened teeth,
I've learned to sleep in the dentist's chair.
The drill's familiar drone replete,
a sound machine of comfort there.

How many fillings teeth made full?
The root canals make smoke to fly,
but later root canals we pull
as saving teeth no more can try.

Make one more tooth for middle top,
and make a bridge for lower five.
The "goober" label we can stop,
but matching tints we slight deprive.

Yet, one thing good I know it's true.
The posters o'er the dentist's chair
are peaceful places, mountain view,
and beaches with some palms out there.

How does the dentist deform his hand
to work in awkward space, like that?
Why doth he ask me of my plans
when mouth is full and cheeks are fat?

line count: 32
poetry form: quatrains of iambic tetrameter lines
prompt number: 11 (March 11th, 2026)

by Jay O’Toole
on March 11th, 2026