It was like scanning a dial,

an old fashioned radio receiver

searching in the darkness

for Radio Luxemburg, static,

partial signal, lost, found, ear

splitting, brain numbing sound

as you close one eye in response

and try to shrug away as the dentist,

fiendishly and with enamel desire

starts removing the loose and the cracked,

the split and gleefully

finds the station’s pulse mark

and enjoys the hits coming forth,

in at this week’s number ten, a new sensation

drill baby drill.

I thought to the man outside the surgery,

a modern capitalist venture, offering easy

payments in return for your back teeth,

he was digging a hole

to stop the rain coming in, shovel resting

on the brickwork, a jack hammer pounding

against the stubborn resistance of layers of

gravel and frost damage,

a hot stove lit and tar being mixed

as his friend produced sugary snacks

to keep them going; they found it easier to

reach Radio Luxemburg,

in at this week’s number one,

can you feel your teeth yet

as they scream and you look at the dentist

wishing she would stop.

 

Ian D. Hall 2018