Washing Hands Lament

There once was a man
who didn’t wash his hands
then touched everything in the kitchen.

When I remind him again
after he’d touched his glands,
I always felt I was bitchin’.

(That is to say,
not in a good way,
I’d rather eat rotten chicken.)

What should I do?
What should I say?
I continually remind him
day after day.

He just shrugs and stares.
He clearly doesn’t care.
Maybe not caring’s the trick
(At least ’til I get sick.)

You’d think what we’d seen
during Covid-19
would change his hand washing
without all my bossing.

What should I do?
I haven’t a clue.
And now I’ll go puke
’cause I’ve got the flu.

Posted in Revolutionary Blogging Poetry, Revolutionary ImproVerse Poetry, Writing about Feelings and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , .

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