Mayhem

I came back to the thick, sweet cloying smell of fresh blood,
it was daubed over the floors, up walls and had
clogged up the spittoons.

There were three nurses, out cold, in the waiting room
and one throwing up in the rest room
while the dentist, stone white, looked on.

Is someone going to clear up this mess up, he shouted.
I started in the front surgery, the debris was everywhere,
it took me two hours.

Then I made them all tea, threw away the towels,
sat down in the corner of the room
and asked, What the hell happened here?

Mr Duncan-Smith did a surgical, they said
and as I raised my eyes to the ceiling,
there dripped the last spot of blood.

poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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