David Welper received his MA in Creative Writing from Wayne State University in Detroit (2003). His work appears in Writing Without Walls, Housefirebooks.com, Denver Syntax, Gumball Poetry, Louffa Press, and other collections. He has been a featured reader in NYC and at the Writing Without Walls series in San Francisco. He is a psychiatric nurse, living in the Bay Area. He likes Jazz, redheads, and sushi. His latest book is Lookbaby, which deals with the absurdity and immaturity of how we look at our surroundings. It is available at indie bookstores and www.kobo.com or through his website: www.DavidWelper.com.
MY DENTIST’S HAIR
is a big black cloud with
yellow highlights.
I lay, brow sweaty,
under her sun-like light
on her chair
not unlike my barber.
under her sun-like light
on her chair
not unlike my barber.
Except my barber
has no hair,
no spotlight stuck
into my mouth.
No fingers pulling
at my cheeks as if on some
quest for a secret tooth
long hidden from dental
professionals.
No. I keep no secrets in my mouth.
Elsewhere, yes.
Elsewhere, yes.
Just ask the barber
who weaves in and out of
said secrets
who weaves in and out of
said secrets
as we banter back & forth.
The dentist. She understands a grunt and
drills like lightning
hunting for its answer.
Denver, 2/3/14 David Welper
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