2014 -- 6.2 (Spring) Poetry


By: Monica Tamayo


Dirty is my enemy

The coughing and sneezing of others, sickens me.

The sense of cleansing and sanitizing is never satisfying,

But contamination is defying.

A sick person’s breath often haunts me,

Taunts me,

And flaunts itself upon me.

A spray of Lysol isn’t enough,

A single drop of hand sanitizer is a bluff.

The compulsion of washing and cleaning ten times every hour,

Could be foolish,

But the sensation bacteria and fungus revolving around me,

Is revolting.

Just the thought of bacteria, diseases and viruses,

Sinks my stomach,

Like the Titanic,

sinking and wrecking into icebergs.

Sanitation for others,

Maybe isn’t assembled,

But me, without it,

Causes Dante’s Inferno to tremble.

I live with 50 bottles of Lysol piled up in my closet,

50 hand sanitizers in my drawers,

And 50 soaps in my cabinet.

You sneeze, I’ll run and scrub away.

You cough, I’ll run and grab my bottle Lysol.

Call me Germaphobia.