The Bad Teeth

Out the window I see some worn-out pigeons fighting for scraps of food waste. Again, I’m at the dentist. My chair goes horizontal. Whirring electricity. Commence scraping. Then screeching. It’s like a demon symphony in my mouth. Taste of iron and saliva. My chair returns to upright position. I rinse my mouth four times to rid the blood. Dental hygienist says some of my teeth are in bad shape; gums need serious attention.  If I agree to work hard, she can fix it. After they take my money, I head straight to the taco stand. My teeth are killing me. Two bites into the taco and I have abandoned all ideas of eating. I run the words over and over in my mind. She can fix it. I’m no different than anyone else. Desperate to be saved. Maybe it was just a lie, but she said it so sincerely. Taste of blood at the back of my mouth; I walk home whistling my favorite song.