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The Belly Button Thief ©

Half a year off the fags, and here's the result.

Danny Reynolds
Dalton in Furness, England

I do believe, when young and naïve,
or so the story goes.
You would feel a bit thick,
if you fell for the trick,
where a grandparent stole your nose.

Why would family,
your own kith and kin,
take pleasure in causing such grief,
with tales of Banshees, and Bogeymen,
and the Belly-Button thief?

Scary tales or Fairy tales,
the end resultís the same.
A million kids will wet their beds,
they donít know itís just a game.

But by far the most frightening,
Of all these creatures,
Thereís one makes my blood run much colder.
The Belly-Button thief doesnít bother with kids,
He waits until we are older.

I speak as a victim, of a recent assault.
He came for me, just this passed year.
Slowly, with stealth,
No regard for my health,
To make my wee navel, disappear.

He didnít come in the middle of the night,
As youíd think would be the norm.
This rancid ghoul has wily tools,
And comes in a more sinister form.

He hides in maxi bags of crisps,
And even bacon fries.
Dry-roasted and ready salted nuts,
And chocolates, (surprise, surprise!)

And as your midrift escalates,
To heights it never knew,
Your bellyís horizon,
(which the button relies on.)
obscures the poor wee thing from view.

There is, Iím told, a remedy,
Though as yet Iíve not bothered to try it.
A nasty form of exorcism,
Known as exercise and diet.

For now, Iím happy to stay as I am.
Mr. BBT, youíre off the hook.
And as for seeing my belly-button?
Iíll use a mirror, if I really want to look.

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