Bad Spit


The root canal and implant surgery,
my dental treatments during quarantine,
one necessary, one appropriate,
are why I ventured from the sanity
of home alone and comfortable hygiene
(the pain and symptoms weren’t counterfeit).
A hair salon I’d fain be going to,
and restaurants I miss would be my scene,
but I’m compelled in dental chairs to sit.
My mouth is weak. My problem’s owing to
bad spit.

(Curtal Sonnet)

This entry was posted in Coronaverse, Health, Poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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