Clean Hands

There are those of use who go about each day Their hands folded nicely but all they pray is that their hands remain Untouched by all the dirt they may encounter along the way Neatly folded hands, never getting down to business They delegate it instead to the rest, maintaining the appearance of faultless, pristine clean hands. And I sometimes wish that they would eat more of the McDonald’s they eat alone in the car each day as they head into the office And that they would have the guts to openly eat a McRib sandwich for lunch instead of the twenty-dollar chi-chi salads they order with friends and mid-day meeting participants. For all the preservatives in a McLunch will surely delay the deterioration of their clean, pure hands After the life in them is gone, they will at least look nice for many years to come Before returning to the dirt from whence they’d begun.