Apparently, this guy likes fishing.
The place is filled with bass and trout.
One, quite impressive,
is mounted to a plank of oak,
and another one is leaping
from the surface of an oil painting.
And I must be the catch of the day,
trapped in this chair beneath a halogen lamp,
struggling to stay calm
and even my breathing,
trying hard to ignore
the hooks in my mouth,
a curled up index finger coated in latex
and a slender slice of metal
on the end of a pencil thin pole.
He baited me with Novocain
and the promise of a whiter smile.
I took them both,
but I’m longing to be free again,
to get him out of my gills
and go back in the water.
Soon this will end, I tell myself.
Soon he will release me
and throw me back,
and I will swim like mad,
back to my place in the lake
where I will brush and floss, brush and floss.
Oh dear God, how I’ll brush and floss.
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{ 5 comments… read them below or add one }
How auspicious that you publish this on the eve of my oral surgery trauma! No fish in that office.
Oh, I wish you well, but I’m so glad it’s you and not me.
Loved it!
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Well I’m sorry you had to go through that but reading about it just made me laugh out loud! Good comedy writing here, bro..
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I survived, of course, and I’m back to swimming freely.