American Life in Poetry

Nebraska's Ted Kooser, U.S. poet laureate from 2004 to 2006, offers "American Life in Poetry," a column on contemporary poetry.

Jaimee Kuperman is a poet living and working in the Washington, D.C., area, and she shares with many of us the experience of preparing one's self for a visit to the dentist. Do you, too, give your teeth an especially thorough brushing before entering that waiting room?

The New Dentist

Driving to the new dentist's office

the slow drive of a new place

with the McDonalds that I don't go to

on the left, the mall two miles away.

The Courthouse and the Old Courthouse

road signs that break apart, the fork in the road

that looks nothing like a fork or a spoon, in fact

at best, maybe a knife bent in a dishwasher

that leans to one side. And I know the dentist

will ask about my last visit and want to know

in months that I can't say some time ago

and I know he will ask me about flossing

and saying when I'm in the mood won't be

the appropriate answer.

He will call out my cavities

as if they were names in a class.

I brush my teeth before going in.

It's like cleaning before the cleaning person

but I don't want him to know I keep an untidy

mouth. That I am the type of person who shoves

things in the closet before guests arrive.

Poem copyright ©2010 by Jaimee Kuperman and reprinted from her most recent book of poetry, You Look Nice Strange Man, ABZ Poetry Press, 2010. Reprinted by permission of Jaimee Kuperman and the publisher.

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