My president
Says
If I drink bleach
The “invisible enemy”
Will be no
More.
Why hadn’t
Anyone
Said this sooner?
Oh, bleach,
You make our
Hands
So sensitive
to the touch:
As dry as Atacama,
As cracked as
The phone my sister
Dropped down the elevator shaft.
But I forgive you,
For
You remove
Our Grass
Our Mud
Our Spaghetti stains.
Oh, bleach!
The combatter of 
Anything needed
To be wiped
Away,
You are
The nightmare of
Every speck of dirt,
Of grime
The solution to any
Crisis.
You make our messes
Clean!
We know you as
All filth’s demise:
If only you could
Cleanse
Him
Of his lies.