my clothes to the surfaces
of the tables in the laundromat. So, I
fold them outside in my crammed
car. Isn’t that bizarre!

Afraid to touch
the door handle to
walk in. A stranger
touched it. Their germs
have left an imprint.

Afraid to touch
the ten-dollar bill -
a million germs on it still. But
the machines won't work
without money.

Afraid to touch
my eye to scratch an itch. My hand
might carry the germ from
the door. Now my eye has a twitch
from an itch. And
I’m going to sneeze!

Afraid to touch
my sock that fell
on the floor. Afraid to
go out into the street. I'll
meet more people I can't
stop and talk to without
a bullhorn.