Doctor Mortimer has the flu.

The story of an alcoholic dentist who lost his right to practice his profession because he passed out while his high speed drill was in a patients mouth. Ouch!

His office opens up at nine.
By ten o'clock their is a line
of patients pained and feeling blue.
But Doctor Mortimer has the flu.

He wheezes in at ten o' five,
scarcely looking half alive.
Extractions,  impactions await his view.
But Doctor Mortimer has the flu.

This fact has been explained to all
who walk on in or place a call.
His secretary pleads his case,
she tries to spare him the disgrace,
and NEVER mentions what is true...
(Doctor Mortimer has had a few!)

He whispers:  "Hold them here awhile."
To his patients he turns,  offering up a smile
so full of suffering,  so devoid of guile.
They're just amazed at how well he's 
bearing up against his viral trial.

Then:  "Send the first one."  He commands.
As he tries to still his shaking hands.
The patient enters right on cue and says:
"Hey Doc. I here you have the flu."
"Uhhh, just a touch."  The Doc informs.
His insides like a can of worms.
"This time I think that just a cleaning will do.
Excuse me a moment won't you?"

Once behind his office door, 
where he feels safe,  he begins to pour.
Then doubles his double,  just because.
Never reflecting on the things he does
just to make it through the day.
In seconds the bottle is put away.

Do you know that the flu is gone when he returns.
He laughs,  he jokes,  his being yearns
to make this patient realize, 

that Doctor Mortimer is authorized
to work miracles north and south,
INSIDE ANYBODIES MOUTH!

Well...   Halfway through this dialogue deep,
Doctor Mortimer began to weep.
I pray the Lord his soul to keep.
With drill in mouth he fell asleep.