From May 28:
In the barber’s chair
The world doesn’t spin so fast
And the mind slows down
A little gossip
A little sports fill the time
In the barber’s chair
In the barber’s chair
You solve all the world’s problems
— Or not; it’s OK
Conversation hums
Like a bee by the window
In the barber’s chair
In the barber’s chair
Tension falls away like hair
Clipped loose, drifting down
A yawn never tastes
Better than the one you get
In the barber’s chair
Note to those who sometimes take this stuff too literally: My most recent doctor’s visit was routine and went fine. No X-rays or MRI. But my imagination spent too much time in waiting rooms.
From May 27:
At the doc’s office
It all seems pretty sterile
But I guess that’s good
At the doc’s office
Preliminaries go well
I still have a pulse
“X-ray of your head
“Shows nothing,” the doctor says
Well, Jeez, I knew that
“Get an MRI,”
Doc orders. “What’s that?” I ask.
Doc says, “Three, four grand”
MRI: Strapped in
And deafened by pounding sounds
This makes me better?
MRI’s two truths:
— It sure as hell has a beat
— You can’t dance to it
But I flunked this test
Just wasn’t patient enough
To fit their image
The MRI broke
Stymied by my magnetic
Personality
Doc, I don’t know what
You hoped to see in me
But you’re out of luck
Epilogue:
The bill makes me ill
Doc says, “Take out two loans, pay
“Me in the morning”
From a visit to the dentist, where actually I’m always treated well and kindly, by dentists and hygienists alike. This is the first of some “Everyday things” postings, followed by an annual checkup and a haircut.
From Feb. 22:
Dental cleaning day
My God, excruciating!
Hearing “lite” FM
They didn’t numb gums
Or teeth, but Jeez my poor brain
Went catatonic
“Easy listening”?
To rock ‘n’ roll ears that’s just
A big freakin’ lie
Molars, incisors,
Bicuspids all were agreed:
This music bites it
They thought I had lost
A filling. “No, music’s lost
“All feeling,” I said
“Please switch the station,”
I beg; they refuse, tell me
I should know the drill
Next time I’ll demand
Some Hendrix, or else I take
Hygienist hostage
Or maybe protest
Nonviolently, eat box
Of Oreos first
Or I will wimp out.
The mean hygienist, Flossy,
Always has me cowed
But please, just no more
Little River Band; how ’bout
Root canal instead?
Note: The “lite FM” station has changed formats, so on my recent dentist visit for the first time in memory I did not hear “Reminiscing” — and I didn’t miss it a bit.
Greg's Hack-u 