Ick

It's okay

It only got on my shirt

But my father, not knowing it was contaminated, threw it in the wash

Turning the soap to putrid scum

Drowning my wardrobe in your ick

And it got everywhere

Folded

Slipped back into my drawer

Next to my CDs

I put my headphones on

And it crawled into my ears

Into my brain

Infesting my hair with microscopic trackers

So you can watch my hair, and never let it far away

I got my hair cut last week

The ick fell to the floor

Was swept into the back

And is free to walk the Earth