Ode to Dr. P

I used the last drops of clear liquid
on nail-sized pad of cotton fluff
t-zone inflammation put on hold
my face needed no other stuff

the chemical formula secretly invented
by dermatological scientist Dr. P
with mystical power unpatented
his purpose only to cure acne

pure fluid gold in 50 ml bottle
umber glass stops oxidation
ration droplets, use just a little
put balance in refrigeration

this miracle lotion’s secret recipe
is wholly owned, rendered by hand
not made available commercially
our only source the clinic he manned

in hard to get personal appointment
he inspects pores, uneven skin tone
eschewing steroids or modern ointment
a potion concocted for me alone

confident that I’d get some more
next trip back at Christmas time
at private consultation, not a store
I’d stock my cellar like finest wine

dear Dr. P, you have for years
prevented monthly facial outbreak
but long held nightmares and fears
have now materialised in heartbreak

this morning in the obituaries
we read the sad news of your death
Oh Dr. P, how could you desert us
leaving hormonal needs unmet

I open grey refrigerator door
gaze at small brown bottle there
turn it upside down once more
half a drop and lonely air

my only memory of Dr. P
there was no warning of his passing
barren bottle is all that’s left me
as sis and I go into mourning