It's not a tumor.

No bathroom break at work is complete
without examining your face in the mirror.
Check for grease stains from the machines.
Pipe dope. PVC glue. Dust from the ceiling joists.
Check your eyes to make sure you're still in there.
It's a process, though not many will admit it.

Today's inspection revealed something new
something I hadn't noticed before.
There was a small flap of skin protruding from my neck.
I tilted my head back to get a closer look, rolled it around
between my thumb and index finger.
It seemed harmless enough, but I wanted to get
rid of it. No free rides here. Besides, it could be cancer.
Pinching it between two fingernails didn't hurt
but when I pulled it did. The little ball of flesh
wouldn't let go of me. It took five tries
and when it finally ripped free
there was blood on my fingers.
I wiped it a few times for the next five minutes
and went about my business as usual with the pipes.
No one noticed anything, not even the red smears.

When she got here tonight it was one of the
first things she mentioned once we got settled in bed.
"Where'd it go?" she asked, rubbing my neck.
"I did a little bathroom surgery today."
"Oh no! I loved it!"
"I didn't even know I had it."
"You've had it since I've known you."
"Well it's gone now."
"That's OK, there's another one over here."
She moved her hand towards the second intruder
but I beat her to it and felt around until it was located.
"No, leave it. You'll bleed."
Funny how she knew that already;
motherly intuition or the female advantage.
I complied after a fake protest.
If she could take it I could take it.

A woman who truly loves you
does it for all your flaws.
Rejoice in the Kingdom of Heaven--
or at least stop making your own little Hell
for long enough to acknowledge the silver roses.