Go Go Diaz

by Claire King

I once knew a guy with a deep belly button.
It stunk like a leg of infected mutton.
Plus he had a most peculiar way
of collecting lint in said navel's bay.
It spontaneously regenerated like flies from meat;
no blanket factory could compete!
He was mean to me and dissed my work.
I should have left then; he was such a jerk.
But he'd walk his fingers across his midriff
and have them dive off into the smelly cleft
of his belly button's putrid puddle,
shouting ''Cannonball!''
so I put up with him.

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