Touching Nerves ©

I once had a dentist,
Whom I thought cared for me.
He cared not of self,
And little of fee.

He had a small office,
A chair and a drill,
A really great guy,
I remember him still.

His office grew larger,
And the chairs in his place,
Became just like the ones,
Astronauts sit on in space.

There came aides and assistants,
Hygienists (a few),
He now has a "proxy",
Works three days, (maybe two).

The "proxy" I'm quite sure,
Doesn't work free,
She doesn't have time though,
To care about me.

I kept seeing less of him,
Than ever I did.
Sometimes when I went there,
I felt sure that he hid.

Does he care now, I wonder?
As he sits in the yacht,
That the pain, filing, fillings
Of others, has bought.

My teeth don't care either,
He didn't save them, alas.
They too cause less trouble,
As they're now in a glass.