Bar of soap: I hate thee

Oh bar of soap,
I hate thee so!

When thee were new, thou was a gift.
I turned thirty and relished in your magnolia scent.

When our Thanksgiving guests came, I offered them
The fresh, unopened bar that was you.

Then you sat in the shower head basket.
An entire fortnight.

Were you lonely?
Didn't you enjoy watching the kids play in the bath?
Wasn't it fun when the girls drank hot chocolate in there?

But tonight, oh bar of soap, I hate thee.

I found three of my four children covered in thee.
The oldest two had washed off the slickness off their hands
Yet the smell remained. Not-so-sweet-now Magnolia.

Katie's arm was covered to her armpit with you.
I thought I was done after rinsing the sink handles
Seven times seven.
I thought that wiping the mounds of soap with a dry cloth would be enough

But naughty soap, you have deceived me.
I came back a fort-hour later and found you
Covering the outside handle of the bathroom door

But lo, that was not enough for thee.
Also on the bathroom door and and inside handle
I wiped the scum of you, off my dwelling.

Now, you reside in my bathroom.
But be warned bar of soap
If thee causes me a rash
Or if thee spreads soap again
Hence the trashcan will be thy home.

Bar of soap.
I hate thee.