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Of all exhortations, whatever occasions,
Of all today's irksome demands,
The one that bedevils on all sorts of levels?
This word to the wise: “Wash your hands.”

Each business, each store has a flask by the door,
Be it push-top, or small atomizer,
Containing a gel with a widely-known smell;
You know it as ‘hand sanitizer’.

It now is the style that we carry a vial
In our purse, or our backpack, or Honda;
And we are so wired, that when we've expired,
No doubt there'll be bottles up yonda.

We do not begrudge the ubiquitous nudge
To avoid some ungodly bacillus,
So we wash and we scrub, with a rub-a-dub-dub,
To insure that the microbes don't kill us.