I have two of them myself
And, boy, they sure are neat
But never, ever, any time
Would I touch my feet
I watch kids, they pick their feet
They pick them with bare hands
I watch dead skin cells flutter down
And who knows where they land
But adults, yes, they do it too--
They love to touch their toes
Dactyls dallying in diaphoresis
Too strong for any nose
Your feet! They walk on bathroom floors!
They grow bacteria!
And when I watch you touch your feet,
I get hysteria.
This is not a joke.
Whether they tread on laminate
Carpet or concrete
Leave them there, do not bend down
Please don't touch your feet
This poem was inspired by three separate instances of foot-touching this week. You guys, feet are gross. Wash them, clip your toe nails, and then wash your hands with warm soapy water and leave them be. They are not toys; they are not pets. They are bacterial smorgasbords. Then you go and play in them and then touch the door handle. And then how do I get out of the house? You are gross.