Hello all,
I wash my hands a lot, so much so that they bleed with some regularity, regardless of season. I was recently challenged to 2–that’s right just 2–pumps of soap per handwash. A drastic decrease in the amount I typically allot myself. So, thinking painfully often about my predicament, I wrote this silly poem. Anyway, let me know what you think, if you decide to read it.
The Fifth Wash
I spiral as you eye roll, unable
To disable my disabled mind--
It won’t unwind in a breathtaking
Undertaking of hyperventilating
To fog up the mirror, obscuring
The worrying and excoriating, yet
The infuriating fury of the flurry in
My mind binds me to an oppressive
Confessional thats success is full
Of my echoing sin, absolved within
A compulsive whim and deep obsession;
A divine disorder that‘s ordered me
To wash my hands again.
Jogging the Mind 