LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE
About once a year I visit my dermatologist. She blasts my face with her freeze gun to get rid of the spots caused by the sunning sins of my youth. She also has a sense of humor because she’ll occasionally ask if I’d like a Botox shot or a lip plump.
After the procedure, I try to hide and recover from the “face fry,” as I call it. During this down time, I take note of all the lovely ladies on TV (some not spring chickens, I might add) with their long and luscious locks framing faces that show nary a line or a wrinkle. This brings me to some observations about sun damage and cosmetic enhancements:
BAN DE SOLEIL
Was sunscreen on our radar? No,
But baby oil would freely flow.
We frazzled, fried, almost flambéed,
Till some of us required first aid.
We’re wiser now though somewhat spotted,
And with a tan, we’re not besotted.
PAINT PREP
When we paint, we’d never taint
The job with imperfections
So everything—each dent and ding—
Is filled in all directions.
Then we place upon the space
The colors we’ll disperse:
It seems to me the botoxee
Is spackled in reverse.
UPTIGHT
The face had been lifted by a surgeon who’s gifted—
One who knew when to say “when.”
But Madam had a hunger to look even younger
And so it was lifted again.
It seems that she thought if her skin was pulled taught,
The bloom of her youth would come back.
Now, as one might think, she cannot smile or blink
And she wishes he’d cut her some slack.
ETERNAL SPRING
She’s vowed she will not age at all.
Her plastic surgeon is on call.
Her body builder and masseuse
Have tightened everything that’s loose.
On birthdays, noting how time flies,
She hyperventilates and lies.
This constant tension brings to mind
Why Father Time cannot unwind.
Editor’s Note: For tips to guard against skin cancer, follow these guidelines from the CDC: Sun Safety | Skin Cancer | CDC
