To a Germ-Spreading Hand Shaker
Why those clammy hands of lasting grief
For an owner of a handkerchief?
Then, you are a forgetful kind,
Who few things keep in mind.
A full right I have to know
Or fully annoyed I shall grow
The last careless contact by your hand
Now, about to unleash microbial harm.
Why not often The Disinfectant
By you thought rather exorbitant?
A clogged left nostril you’re picking
And my fingers I’d be licking
After your palms against mine sticking
And in the end a time bomb ticking?
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