Ironically my pockets were too deep
and needed to be emptied of calculus.
The tartar’s algorithm suggested
geometric damage plus tooth loss.
After a few “pinches”, I lay back in the chair.
Now numb, I let him do the math.
With pictures in hand, he calculates
what has to be rendered and sorts the variables.
Keeping account with a bright light,
he moves his deft hands with rapidity and alacrity.
Of the basic subtraction, I marvel, how well
he assesses both my comfort and his progress.
With scalers, curettes, and burnishers,
he completes his calculus reckoning.
He adds careful notes regarding the upper and lower bite
and makes his computation with mathematical exactness.
In addition, to maintain proportionate checks and balances
with formulaic precision, he shows his work.
Closing with sutures and “band-aids” he submits the solution,
confident of a correct de-calculation.
At home, with alternating ice packs, I reduce the swelling
and rest assured that I will continue
to render mouthfuls of good answers
with my whole teeth and nothing but my teeth.
MaddogPoetry 