Sitting in the waiting room,
A boy of almost eight,
Who’s never missed a chance to floss,
Nor abided sugar on his plate.
The scream of dental instruments
(And of those on which they’re used)
Leave me with a sense of peace,
Sedate and much amused.
I wore a three-piece suit to school
The morning ‘fore I came.
I was born to be a dentist
Though the others call me lame.
Yet I fear I shall not meet my dream,
Not for lack of smarts or drive
But because I am indifferent
To whether patients stay alive…
The Daily Travesty 