Not the Face of Easter

It’s really rather simple -

A purple-headed pimple

Arose upon my face;

And feeling rather cross

With my beauty at a loss,

I asked my son to place

His finger and his thumb

On either side. Feeling numb,

As he pokes and peeks

At my deeply-reddened cheek,

I wince, and I beg:

’Don’t squeeze it, like some egg,

Or else…’

Splat.

So - That’s it.

The popping of my zit.