Don't Want to Feel

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