It isn’t any worse than what
I discover in the dentist’s chair
under the nitrous oxide.

The whole jaw is going, I complain, the gums, the bone,
two enormous fillings lost. What do I need?
Maybe a guillotine? says my dentist, the joker.

The only thing I have to fear is fear itself, I tell him.
You believe in that bullshit? he says,
setting to work on my rotting bicuspid.

Now comes the good part. Breathing the happy gas,
I get answers to all the questions I had
about death but was afraid to ask.

Will there be pain? Yes.
Will my desires still be unsatisfied? Yes.
My human potential remain unrealized? Yes.

Can a person stop minding about that? Certainly.
Can I commend my spirit to the seventeen
angels whistling outside the dentist’s window?

Of course. How nice the happy gas.
What a good friend.
I unclench my sweaty little hand.

I wave goodbye to my teeth.
It seems they are leaving by train for a vacation.
I’ll meet them in the country when I can.

Source: Poetry Foundation