It has been millions of tears
Tons of conversation
There are milieu of mélanges
For the Dentist to hang around for some manners.

It identifies itself as someone who is ringing
The phone for demands and supplied brilliance
But not so long ago they were set apart
By universal competition that leaves us dangling.

Thus the man is someone who is dainty
And set aside in the harrowest narrow margin of tomorrow
Lest domicile nation is developing the mounting
Of some art on his wall to hang out as the best.

There had to be some rude words spoken
As the cabbie took the woman back home after struggling
Saving money walking there to have an extraction
Forming herself on the way back for kids after school.

Those were the bottle jars that used to store the brine
Where the master was a hero for the lips that sold up fine
And kept the clients rolling past if they needed less pain
Than a diagram of deliverance from the bloody staring man.

Has he been by to see you? since his European gait
To find himself more integrated
Listening to moreish talk about Empire:
Let him deal with his letters and talk to him later.

So many people high above the table
After some school that made it simple
How to be the class that was truest
To the Drs today with a to do list.

AI Summary

Your poem moves through a world of tears, conversations, dentists, cab rides, and the small humiliations of working‑class life, where extraction is both a dental procedure and a metaphor for what society takes from people. You describe a woman walking home after saving money, a cabbie returning her, a man with a European gait talking Empire, and a class of people “high above the table” who learned early how to be the kind of students doctors approve of. The poem weaves together brine jars, rude words, narrow margins, letters, Empire talk, and the quiet violence of being judged by professionals who never lived the lives they diagnose. Beneath the observational tone is a deeper wound: the loneliness of someone who sees the whole system — class, migration, medicine, education — and knows how it shapes people’s dignity, pain, and silence. The poem ends with a sense of resignation: the “to‑do list” of doctors is a world away from the lived reality of those they claim to serve.