At the age of 8 

I feared that the chemicals in soaps

would erase my identity

So I promised to stay away from the sink.

As time went by

I felt the roughness return

As I plucked leaves from trees

to make a crown for my mother.

 

But when my monthly check-up came around,

The man with the clipboard insisted that 

I wash my hands with soap to avoid the flu,

I told him I couldn’t, 

It will wash me away too. 

 

He didn’t understand that

These hands map my existence.

These hands can tell time

when it’s passing, when it’s stretching.

These hands expose the roads

to where I had my first spanking.

These hands have cities                                       

These hands contain 42nd St

and how to get to the nearest L train station.

These hands will mock me when I turn 90

and can no longer hold

a piece of paper.                                                                                  

 

But now,

I wash my hands ten times a day

because back when I was 8,

I was just trying to prove

that kids will think of anything

to avoid doing what they are told to do.