The Wart

I once had a wart on my dominant hand,

With oozing white puss my mom couldn’t stand.

But I liked watching the skin decay,

And slowly peel off every single day.

With blood that bubbled underneath,

I wanted to rip it off with my teeth,

But my mom said an absolute “no,

To the doctor we shall go”

So I let the doctor take a squeeze,

After a little nitrogen freeze.

It sizzled and burned before it was numb,

The little wart had no choice but to succumb.

And after only one single day,

I impatiently ripped it off anyway.

Ever since then, I understand,

To keep clean my writing hand.