Preservation

My teeth are dying.
My dentist,
using his cliched euphemism for mercy killing
says I need to go for a root canal.
Several root canals,
three in total.
Who is he kidding?
I know they are dying
and a root canal is only coldblooded murder,
a way of saying
‘Goodbye friend,
you did your job
but you could not last the whole jig.
It won’t hurt, I promise.
And when you’re gone, we’ll give you a stately burial.
Drain your insides,
fill them up,
preserve you like an Egyptian mummy,
and cover you with a glossy sheen.’

The bugger does not stop there.
‘We have to do a reroot canal too.’

Wtf!
That one was dead already.
And I wonder how you can kill something
that died three years ago.

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