A blob it is

On one of the cheeks

Sits on its own

A mash of pink and brown

It did a silent entry

Plonked itself quietly

Away from the discerning eye

And then she broke into a cry

“Oh, it’s a pimple!”

“Yes, it’s on your dimple”

“But am not a teen anymore …”

Oh, come on .. urged Partner.

And then ensued a mad scramble

For hacks and balms and skin potions

Memories of past and present invoked

To shoo the blob away.

But it was cheeky,

It was stubborn

Much like to its mistress born

And refused to go,die

Mater was invoked

Wisdom was sought

Hectic parleys followed

But to a naught.

A fortnight now

It does a peep-and-show

In no seeming hurry

To call it a day

And let the dimple(s) rule

They also serve,

Who spoil a smile.