Poem
A poem by Lion Chris Russack (Angaston & District Club)

She washed her hands and smiled and said, as she dried them thoroughly,
That’s twenty times today, I’ve kept them virus free;
I’ve soaped them well and lathered up and rubbed my palms together,
By interfacing fingerbones which seems to take forever.

Each interlocking hand I’ve turned, rotating left to right,
Until each digit’s creaked and groaned and ligaments are tight;
Then came the rinse and the towelling off that’s left them sparkling clean,
There’s not a single dimple left, nor a wrinkle to be seen.

And all before I’ve breakfasted, before the clock’s struck nine,
But these practices are all rituals now within the daily grind;
The powers to be, to stop the spread, made clear one stipulation,
Use hand hygiene where ere you’ve been, to avoid capitulation …

… to the lethal COVID entity that’s left death upon its wake.
So, observe the rule, go wash your hands, for everybody’s sake.