Ode To A Lost Sock

(Barvo's note - I don't actually write poems. I have no urge and don't read it for pleasure. I wound up in a writing class taught by a poet, so had to write several poems. When I can't do something well, I hide behind humour. Behold the result!)

Ode to a Lost Sock

my alarm howls
violates my psyche
unforgiving, the light pounds a nail into my retina
into the waking world, I lurch
and curse the sun

with bricklike grace, I trip over a cat, a bed, a wife
all of whom try to bite me

a miracle
a pile of clothing
it is time to dress

jeans
t-shirt
jeans off
underwear
jeans on

I am prepared for the day.

not quite

the sole of my dignity
my achilles heel--cover is missing
a lone sock lies on the floor
its mate mocks me with its absence

am I doomed to wear but one sock?
asymmetrical, lopsided, forever walking in very large circles?

they were laundered yesterday
joyous twins prepared for adventure
washed away by the Tide

one returned
a survivor
try as I might it will not speak of the horrors it has seen
why it left its partner to a soapy fate

it would weep for the humanity
(sockanity)
of it all, but socks do not cry

for many reasons

the lost sock was softer than the others
an angel's tongue on my weary feet
it never required the rat-a-tat of a claw hammer
to pound out the crust of old sweat
from when I forget to do the laundry

an aspiring philosopher once told me
you will find what you seek
in the last place you look

some aspiring philosophers
are in dire need
of some hemlock