Invasion

 

When waking from a dream filled night

consult the mirror, as you might,

I find a truly naughty dot

has crept in there no matter what!

My wife complains and soon points out,

“You’ve problems with your Brussel Sprout.”

Tells her God that I’m a sinner,

in my bed with Sunday dinner.

I could stay naked, in the buff

and stop invasions of the stuff.

Could ensure it doesn’t linger,

ping it with a practiced finger.

Bloody stuff has no compassion,

obstinate and far from fashion.

It’s blue and red, a great fanfare,

gathering bits from who knows where.

So, desperate I must ask you,

just what the hell am I to do

to nullify this fuzzy stuff…

and purge my belly button fluff?