His World

I leaf through Vogue
and gingerly pull up my knee-sock
for I am twelve
and in the over air-conditioned
office
of my orthodontist.
I'm scared of my orthodontist
because I know he hates me.

There is a pillar of glass
from the floor to the ceiling
full of water
and five gold-fish
I watch them
and get elevator sick.
how terrible
to be a vertical gold-fish
when God made you horizontal.

My orthodontist
controls the world in my mouth.
Only he really knows
how all that mesh
and those tight metal bands
will fix my teeth
forever.

And this is how I know
he hates me:
I asked him a terrible question.
I wanted him to remember me.
So, three months ago
I asked,
"Why did you become an orthodontist?"
Just to make conversation.

So now, when I'm called in,
I watch him in his world
of pretty nurses who adore him,
and money,
and easy listening radio.
He is the king of teeth
and deep-pile carpeting.
And I should have known
to keep my place
among the loyal retainers.