Scratching Sloth Courtesy LittleAnimalGifs.Tumbir.com

Itchybod Bane

My name is Itchybod Bane.

I ain't no superhero kind of man,

but like all them, I have a secret pain.

My itchy body is my claim to fame.

No sleep for me in Sleepy Hollow,

headless horseman thoughts to wallow,

scratching is my perrenial nightmare,

dusk to dawn into day to follow.

You'll see me scratching like a dog,

with my right foot behind my right ear.

Foolishly, feverishly whipping away,

as though I'm scratching into next year.

And you'd be right, because I did and do.

Last year, the year before that,

and even the year before that, too.

At least I was consistent, persistent.

But some places are so damn hard to reach,

for those I need help to charge into the breach.

For those may require a long Chinese scratcher,

or a willing assistant while I'm on the crapper.

Ever have an itch that you just couldn't scratch?

Ever have an egg that you just couldn't hatch?

What does an egg have to do with this poem?

I don't know, but I sure got you going.

Pills, ointments, salves and creams,

I've tried them all, so it seems.

They all work fairly well for a little bit,

but soon, I'm back on an itching fit.

So every time you have an itch that bothers you a little,

think of old Itchybod Bane and let out a whistle.

I'll hear you whistling and run to your side,

and scratch your bloody sweet little hide.

Copyright 2017 © Ronald W. Hull

3/23/17

Read this poem on my website here.