The Lost Sock.

Possibly because I was an only child (come to think of it, my parents never corrected that so I still am) I learned to play well – and bond – with inanimate objects. And I guess I really appreciate having two feet because I nearly lost one. Anyway, this poem is based on a true story.  Have fun!

The Lost Sock.

She watched for a year.
She hoped he would be found
in the bottom of another laundry basket
trapped under the agitator
hiding in a sleeve.

Each laundry day she lay patiently
at the front corner of the sock drawer
watching reunited couples being
tossed back into their communal nest
swapping tales of stubbed toes
and bird perched on their clothespins;
swinging in breezes, warmed in the sun,
counting clouds and feeling refreshed,
of getting lost inside a pillow case.

She waited and hoped.

Then one day a ring
slipped from the woman’s hand
into the waste disposal.

The woman fetched a flashlight and tongs.
Fishing for the ring, wondered
What is this brown lump in the corner?

Pulled out the body
filthed and shredded
elastic stretched to the width of a thigh
rips in places
toes never make holes.

The woman goes to the sock drawer
and tells the other sock the sad news.

He may have been trapped for some time
but once I hit the grinder
he would never have known what happened.

No, you cannot see him
remember him
as he was in life
sharing feet
swapping shoes
and lying soft and fresh in the drawer
his cuff folded around you.


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