The Spot

Upon my head the strangest thing

Is growing underneath my skin

It snuck up quiet with no sound

Now stands defiant, red and round

There is an urge to scratch and itch

But with this plan there is a hitch

The more I scratch, the more it grows

And protrudes farther from my nose

I wish the thing would go back down;

I look like a sad party clown

I shouldn’t peel and mustn’t pick;

And my last plaster doesn’t stick

I think maybe if I just squeeze

And hold my breath so I don’t sneeze…

Like a volcano explosion

Mirror’s splattered with the motion

“The pressure made you pop,” I sing

“Take that you big red ugly thing!”

© Ben Cotton


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