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Oh, stay on your toes around those who write prose,
for they'll rob you of every good story.
Without much repentance, they'll steal every sentence
to boost their authorial glory.

All your tabloid-style sex, all the dirt on your ex,
every foible and flaw and addiction-
when you try to dine out on such tales, some bored lout
will remark how your life mimics fiction.

Be especially cool around MFA schools,
where they're all wearing wires like informers;
be as dull as a shrub when you chat in the pub,
or they'll market the film rights to Warner's.

You can let down your guard when you're next to a bard,
for they rarely get out of their psyches;
they are so self-absorbed, as you gaze in their orbs,
they don't notice you're nude in your Nikes.

But beware of that kind whose right margins are lined,
and stay mum when they sit at your table;
they can steal your good name or your purse, all the same,
but who steals your life's plot, steals your navel.