oh where did I leave you?
Like mislaid socks,
nicely fitting but not right.
I lose one sock every other washing.
The wisdom of the washer and dryer
says that God is stockpiling the lost one
to be reunited with the other in heaven.
Does that mean those with perfectly
mated, never separated pairs, are
doomed to the spin dry of eternal hell?
But then, it’s Smart of God, not letting me
hop around on one foot in my nakedness.
Socks are greater than love.
They remind us that things
lost will eventually be found,
show the foolishness of looking
back to see what’s coming.
They are reminders that
rain is the reason clotheslines
I look down and see a pair
Others see two odd ones
What I can see is clearly there
To them is just as clearly wrong
Such is life in all its aspects
Such is class, race, and creed
I see beauty, they see defects
They hear defiance, I sense need
I keep my socks mixed in a jar
I know exactly where they are
They fit my feet and that's enough
I don't even have to look
Not worried about the colour
Don't care about the spots
Socks see themselves as brothers
That the other is not lost
It's a sockism
All socks are foot-shaped
It's a truism
Life is better pair-shaped
Have you seen
those have not’s
Throw it up
or not not
Tater tots in train socks
Hit you with their rocks soft
Kick you round the house party
Whip you out the dog park
Bodies in the saw dust
I'm the jewelery behind the cage
That nobody wants to buy
But catches your eye for a minute.
Shining because I was shined
Until within goes dark again,
They pull me out to be cleaned and grin
Then everyone goes home
But in the cages they leave the lights on
So while the rest sleep, my head still spins.
I'm the mismatched socks you don't wear,
Can't throw them out, so they stay there.
Piled under everything new to come
I've got a hole in my sole, threads undone.
You pull to stop the little bleed.
More and more string starts coming free.
Until I'm tangled and you're entangled in me.
I'm the poet that doesn't get read
But continues to write so he might go to bed
I taught all kinds of people
All kinds of simple things
Equations for this that
Or the other,
And sometimes the outcomes
Made stuff better
In their heads or in the World
But that didn matter
Cos I was already walking
Out of their puzzle and onto
Some next one
And sometimes the algebra
I taught had solutions
That were guilt for them
Or me or Us
And sometimes it was just Truth -
And, the reason I dont
Wear socks in pairs
Is cos all the time they wear out
One sock at a time
Socks and sandals a fashion faux pas?
I've been told that its an unspoken law.
Whether they're thick or thin, woolen or silky.
As long as they hide feet so pale and milky.
Not only do they keep my toes toasty warm.
But cover those hideous and unsightly corns
i have always loved
my wacky socks more than all
of my other clothes
they started mismatched
then all knee highs, and now they
are so colourful
they're still mismatched and
knee high sometimes, but all i
want is wacky socks
socks are anything
and everything, a nice,
unique part of me
Don’t allow grey skies to dampen your hair,
soak up your shirt,
seep into your
Let the tears fall if they brew under-lid,
Don’t stay up late ‘til the birds start to talk,
you don’t need to
Smoke always rises and wind blows you sideways-
even gorse ****
has bright yellow
For matching socks;
I meet my train, asymmetrically dressed.
‘Improbable as it may be, the day still has a few indignities left.’
- Colson Whitehead, The Colossus of New York