Linda Scribbles











I don’t know how to warn you,

how best you might prepare

against the rudest fiend we know;

the sneaky, cheeky,

the naughty, rotten beast

that yanks up your underwear.

I can’t tell you what it looks like,

but you’ll surely know it’s there.

It comes exactly when you least can hop,

when you really, really, really

do not want to go fishing back behind you,

looking for your thunderwear.

A sudden hoisting of your hind end,

your rear high in the air,

or a slow, creeping, nimble-fingered tug

that has you wiggling, uncomfy in your chair,

or even maybe a good swift YOINK

and then your waist band’s in your hair.

Each one has its style,

a preference for its game,

but do not doubt the Wedgie Monster’s

best and favorite sport

is yanking on your chain.

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