Washing My Hands

It all comes down to this, then.
Manic hand cleansing:

no beseeching of the uncaring gods:
no besmirching of immigration policies:
no longing for other days that
forever
have passed.


We share, with our cleansing routine,
a commonality 
that long has been lost,
if
     it
          ever
                    existed
at all.

The parameters have been reset.
The future is ours
for
     the 
               making.

Be secure in your loneliness,
knowing,
                 paradoxically,
that you are not 
                                                        alone.

Count to tomorrow,
then simply
scrub
again.

Repeat.