Unloading the washer
I saw the mate to my sock
Called my friend Shelly.
“Do you suppose that Lost Socks put me on!?”
I wasn’t buying into Shelly’s Socks
get bored he insisted
and want a fresh start
get tired of stinky hoes
who wander in search of carving freedom they go on the lam.
They creep out of their agitated spins
leaving half a pair wet, and alone.
What does a sock do
when away from his shoes,
and new to the singles scene?
He parties hard, and hits on
other socks on the run
while his wife sleeps pondering life’s meaning
from inside a dank boot it’s fresh air cooler
Well her yarn did make sense,
I didn’t like losing my stuff.
But to seek something better is the Canadian way,
though it’s so hard to part with my sock!!!
Dennis Lee and Margaret Atwood ©
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