A chair of worn out
blue material.
It could never be mistaken
for something imperial.
Many a posterior
has rested here,
struggling to
control their fear.
A white coated woman
takes your name.
You sit down
to study a picture frame.
The man opposite
looks at the floor
and every now and then
sneaks a peek at the door.
A table with magazines
is in between.
The woman beside
is reading about the Queen.
The door opens
and your name is called.
Wouldn’t you know
now it doesn’t hurt at all.

What doesn’t hurt? Is that for your reader to conjecture?
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I’m reminded of my dentists appointment!
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