Basal cell carcinoma,
is dotted on my face;
my dermatologist's goal?
erase each single trace.
Patchwork, here and there,
his sutures mar my skin;
Frankenstein reminders,
of where his work has been.
A little, next to my nose,
and a little by my eyes;
remnants of his diligence,
from where my skin has fried.
It's the least invasive type,
thank God for little things;
my state is full of sunshine,
and what such sunshine brings.
So I slap on the old sunscreen,
that gooey, paste protection;
in hope that it suffices,
from Old Sol's intervention.