Some things I just don’t want to feel
Like a hairy kiwi, a slimy banana peel
Or a crusty, flaking elephant knee
A needle-sharp stinger of an angry bee

Some things I just don’t want to touch
Like a homeless person’s used toothbrush
Or a moldy piece of pumpernickel bread
A zombie’s decomposing severed head

Some things I just don’t want to sense
Like the prickly bushes around my fence
Or a scorching soup I thought was cool
A medium rare steak and its bloody pool

Some things I just don’t want to touch
Like where sweaty armpits rest on a crutch
Or any kind of poop, feces, defecation
A doctor’s cup that encourages urination

Some things I just don’t want to feel
Like the electric shocking of an eel
Or a dental patient’s rotting teeth
A clump of earwax, fungus-ridden feet

But, worst of all, there is one thing
When you don't clean the tub
It's that thick, disgustingly brown ring
Makes me afraid to rub-a-dub-dub