Driller Gate

Sitting in the waiting room of the dentist’s up the road and feeling a bit edgy

I had plenty of time to consider whether it was a mistake on my part giving up being a veggie

As these and other subjects passed through my mind I thought I heard the sound of drilling

But it wasn’t a drill; it was a littlun’ jamming a handheld fan into carpet which he seemed to find quite thrilling

With my appointment time far in the distance I was ushered into the surgery

My admission to the dentist that I hadn’t been for four years was no act of purgery

Realising I might be a bit anxious he give me a good vibe

Which I hung onto for the next ten minutes praying that I would survive

In fact with no sign of decay all I needed was antibiotics for a gum infection

Surprise, surprise: my vision of rampant, irretrievable decay was just a projection.

Later on Dad came round and we worked together to put an iron gate back on its hinges

It looks better swinging there than it did under an overgrowth of Lilac on the front garden’s fringes

I got the chances to use a drill myself to make holes in the wall and did not baulk

Marking a guide hole, getting the bit to bite and giving it some torque

I felt pretty good about myself and even better that the holes were in the brick

A more appropriate substance for drilling in than my one of my back teeth, however sick.