Horse Proctology

Horse Proctology

By David De Jong

I nearly died
When I opened wide
His chair-side demeanor
Just made me meaner
He didn’t say a word
And made me perturbed

No greeting
Just poking
Me bleeding
No joking
Throbbing pain
Novocain
Whirring chill
Burning drill
Needles to the gum
Holy – sun of a gun

He drilled a little
Then opened the door
I’m drooling spittle
He drilled some more
My patience went thin
While he drilled a well
Through my swelling chin
I wanted to yell
But couldn’t move my lips
Oh Shi-bubbly-bips

With no direction
He pushed ejection
My cheeks all inflated
His wallet elated
This half-crass, miss-called dentist
Was more of, a horse’s proctologist

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