she was a red
head, wore bobbed and short.
she wore scrubs, too,
with a tattoo which covered
her entire arm.
she was a woman and a mother
by definition,
but she seemed younger,
her soul was as old
as mine, I think.
her son was my age, too
well, that’s what she said,
but I don’t believe her.
she always smiled when I
came in, small talk
until the dentist was
ready.
I enjoyed it
more each time.
she said the third time
she liked my hair,
no,
she said
she loved my hair
she thought it was cute
I laughed, but
that’s it,
because I’m far
kinder and she’s far
older than
we ought to be.
“it looks like
this is it,”
the dentist said,
“nine times
in four months, but
this is it.”
I smiled,
she smiled,
and we both knew
it was fake.
I said, “that’s great.”
she got
offended.
so they got on with it
she’s seen the inside
of my mouth
nine times now,
and she’s stuck that
sucky thing in
for my dog-like spit,
nine different days now.
when it hit my tongue
she’d giggle
like a twenty year old.
she still smiled.
she still made small talk.
she still liked my hair.
her hair was still red.
when he put the needle
in I felt it all
go numb,
she giggled again:
the same young giggle,
said,
“for a redhead
you respond quick to anesthetic,”
I laughed, but
that’s it,
because I’m far
more mature and she’s far
more interesting than
we ought to be.
when it was all over
I said goodbye,
thanks
for the torture.
the dentist laughed,
walked away.
it was only us and
just then
the dentist assistant’s red hair
reflected onto the wall
it was a young flame of
a shadow, better than
a shadow.
when she walked away
her back arched,
her behind looked wonderful
as wonderful as any girl
my age,
and just then
she looked back,
smiled again
for the last time,
her front looked wonderful,
as wonderful as anyone
any age.
with everything in me,
like an animal,
like instinct,
just then,
right there,
I wanted to take her.
I think the Novocain did
more than just
numb my face
as I stood
drooling like a dog,
tail wagging
at the impossible.
she was fond of me,
I was fond of her,
and that’s the way it will
stay, forever,
a memory stuck
in the reflection.
her red hair
projected on the wall,
never to be touched
never to be anything at all
but a laugh,
a smile,
and a good
riddance.