The Lucky Marble

A marble with my name on it
has come up in the genetic
lottery yet again with more
flawed genes from my parents.
Now a new specialist scrutinises
my flesh inch by inch with his
little lens, watched by the nurse.

So many of us here descended
from white Scottish and Irish
immigrants have little inbuilt
protection from the sun’s rays
from above us and reflected
from the vast surrounding ocean
near the equator far from the barriers
wide spread polluting northern clouds.

We burn bright red in the sun –
no adequate screening cover
until twenty years ago.

Damage lasted long after burnt
white skin paled again during
fruitless attempts to turn brown.
In our later years our weakened
skin cells sprout small hostile
warts that burrow down sending
out roots to devour, to kill our flesh.

Only the scalpel remove them.

The Lucky Marble