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Mafia Dentist

Dreamed 2007/7/10 by Wayan

I'm due to see a dentist
in Santa Cruz at four;
I'm searching for his
office, door to door

when a black limo glides to halt.
The dental nurse steps out!
The dentist lurks in the back of the car,
a Haitian monstrous fat.

He croaks "get in" in an ugly way.
My gut says run, yet I obey.

A dental chair is bolted to that iron limo floor.
I pray these two are closet masochists.
The nurse straps me in, and ties my wrists.
Every hair stands up in horror.

He pierces my throat with a vegetable tie,
careful to miss my jugular vein,
threads the wire round my larynx,
and out my neck again.

I feel like a calf with a nose-ring
as maniacs hold the rope.
Obey, or never again will I sing:
he'll pull the garotte loop.

But would I mute? The flimsy tie-
wire might snap before ripping my
voicebox, but dare I risk a fight?
What with? I can only bite.

He mumbles "We won't maim or
cripple ya too bad,
but see, I gotta aim a
message to your dad."

He and my father are mafia leaders
jostling each other.
Just as my dad teaches readers,
dentistry's his cover.

All my relatives are crooks.
    It's them my dentist's punishing,
       for he assumes I'm in their biz.
He rips my fragile flesh with hooks,
    but the dream is kind, fast-forwarding,
       for pain is not its point. What is?

At five they dump me back on the street.
But I grab the dentist's throat and growl
"I broke with my dad, we never speak!
You sent no message, you fool!

But here's one for YOU: touch me again
and you're dead. I won't avoid wars
between my rotten family and yours!
I don't care if we all die, when

you drag me back in your hells.
I left your world; I'm staying out.
You criminals have rules. I don't!
Leave me out of your games... or else."


I did not get run over, or dentisted, or mafiad, or anything. I'm still puzzling over this dream. This dream that said it was a message. Only not to me--to my dad. Who's dead. And, while he lived, didn't believe in dreams.


I've been trying therapy monthly--all I can afford. So I went today again, and talked over the Mafia Dentist dream. No conclusions, when the session ended at ten to four. So I got on my bike, and...

At four PM I was trapped by
the light at Gough and Fell,
when a middle-aged black guy
walked out of flashback hell!

Obese he was, as near-obscene
as Mafia Dentist in my dream:
crisp black slacks and dressy shoes,
under that wobbling belly-ooze.

I dared not ask if he worked on teeth--
leave the nightmare in its grave!
Lift Life's skirt to peer beneath?
I'm brave. But not that brave.

LISTS AND LINKS: doctors & dentists - teeth - oops! - violence - pain in dreams - family values - crime and criminals - threats and bullying - self-defense - dream-fathers - dreams of my real dad - dream humor - shamanic dreams - dream poems - ESP in dreams - predictive dreams - a follow-up dream: Blind Ancestors - a second doctor-nightmare-poem: Doctor Ventril

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