with cleanliness, washing his hands,
a dozen times
a day.
i'd see him over the sink,
with soap
and a scrub brush,
the hot water steaming,
fogging
the room.
slowly, he worked at his.
fingers and palm,
the nails and
knuckles, all the way
up to his wrist.
it was like a surgeon
before
the scalpel cuts in.
i always wondered what sins
he was trying to
wash away and push down
the drain.
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