We did not lie on silken sheets
And it was not at the Ritz,
But it was a Sunday morning
And Penny popped my zits.

Her gentle hands upon my back
Worked calmly, without fuss -
Oh how my happy spirits
Leapt skywards (like the pus).

Through demoralising years
When so much else has perished
Why is it this experience
Above all that I've cherished?

Our marriage may have crumbled
To disgruntlement and writs -
But there was that Sunday morning
When Penny popped my zits.

Stan Montgomery

If you've any comments on this poem, Stan Montgomery would be pleased to hear from you.