The Appointed Hour

He stares at the clock,
time drumming
like drops of water
upon his forehead.
Flanked by guards,
he remains seated,
silent, stone-faced,
damp fingers tapping.

The door unlatches,
Father's hand
upon his shoulder
as he rises, trembling.
"It is time, my son."
There will be no stay...

Escorted into a brightly lit chamber,
he winces before
the dazzling ceiling lamp,
a sinister chair gleaming
at floor's center,
with bizarre armrests,
an adjustable headrest.

An attendant, dressed in gray,
motions for him to be seated.
He obeys, smells
something smoldering.
A fan at ceiling's center
whirs madly, sucks air
through a vent.

Another man appears,
adjusts the headrest,
inspects power cables.
The attendant flips switches,
power gauges glowing.

"Open wide,"
the dentist says, smiling.

Scott Speck
1998