Don't You Dare, Devil Dentist

Don’t You Dare, Devil Dentist

 

I hate dentists.

The only difference between a terrorist and a dentist is a terrorist inflicts pain but doesn’t send you a bill. He sends you to heaven. You die knowing you were innocent. But with a dentist you die regularly. You are sent to hell. You only have yourself to blame.

 

You ate the candy.

You picked the dentist.

You gave thumbs up for the drill.

 

You die regularly in that big chair of collected co-payments.

You die regularly in that big chair of fat patient sweat.

You die regularly wanting to punch this fake doctor in the face.

 

You hate dentists.

And you are right to question their big houses bought by your pain.

And you are right to mock their wives small brains and big butts.

And you are right to wonder if their secretaries are getting a special oral discount.

 

Don’t lecture me and ask for money. I’m your patient; not your whore.

Don’t get mad when I jam that toothbrush inside your surprisingly clean colon.

Don’t keep saying you’re a doctor when all you do is inflict injury.

 

Maybe you’re Doctor Doom.

Maybe you’re Doctor Frankenstein.

Maybe you’re Doctor Mengele.

 

Don’t you dare call yourself a Doctor. Devil Dentist. Don’t you dare.

 

Mark Antony Rossi is a poet, playwright and author of twelve titles. This microfiction is part of a retrospective of his fiction career entitled "Corrupt City of My Heart: Selected Short Fiction 1990 - 2018" and will be released in Jun by Soma Publishing. http://www.somapublishing.com