Tinkering with the ivories – or why I’m not a dentist.
When I was young and still a virgin
I started to train as a dental surgeon.
I was full of eager plans
To ease the pain of my fellow man.
The first year being mainly theory
I quite enjoyed and was quite cheery.
The second year was my stumbling block
I’ll tell it you now, but please don’t mock.
I came to meet upon one day
A frail old lady – hair of grey
She lisped to me and asked me ‘pleeth,
Provide for me a thet of teeth’
Many years had passed since her face had a tooth
her gums had receded along with her youth.
There was hardly a ridge left upon which to base
A new set of gnashers to furnish her face.
She needed techniques very complex and long
Of the sort one would hope to be gloried in song.
So I rolled up my sleeves and engaged in the work
Necessary to give her a shiny new smirk.
Many appointments came and went
My back was to my object bent
Each tiny adjustment was made with her nod
They had to be perfect as if made by God.
Tears and sweat and time were spilled
At last the plastic gums were filled
With perfect porcelain works of art
Placed and chosen with all my heart.
That her teeth weren’t natural you couldn’t tell
As I gazed upon them my pride full swell
The daughter she’d brought for the very first time
Poured forth her wisdom to opine.
‘Oh Mum, I think they’re a little too yellow’
Says Mum ‘Oh yes, what d’you think young fellow?’
I tried to remind her we’d chosen the hue
To reflect on her age – after all she ain’t new.
But the daughter held firm – she’d have gone on all night
‘If she’s having new teeth – they ought to be white’
Along came my tutor observing my pout,
Held the teeth towards me and said ‘Grind them out’
‘Use them as trays to take new impressions,
start all over again, book her in for more sessions’
Instead of beginning all over again
I decided I was sick of my fellow men.
If they had pain – then that was tough,
Someone else could help them
I’d had enough.
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