Going to the Dentist

 

 

                                                                                           

                                                                                        

2

 

Et les grands ciels qui font rêver d’éternité.

 

 

 

Walking down to the dentist in the morning in Sker.

Sun out, the dying embers of a furnace of a summer.

Early August, but You can feel September sneaking along,

And with it the Autumn nostalgia.

 

But before that, and work and strife,

You take in the embers, still shimmering in the morning light.

A scene worthy of Aeneas’s departure,

But in place of the gods there is only a brass door knocker

 

Of Bacchus, by all accounts, rich in vine leaves

Worn like a crown and hung against a scarlet door.

All of the streets are deserted for my dramatis personae.

 

The nineteen thirties architecture,

All part of the calm before the beckoning storm;

My dentist awaits the plaque and the filling.