Poetry: Ode to a Dirty Old Sock


Crumpled on the bedroom floor
Crusty, yellow and threadbare

Dropped, forgotten, once a pair
Worn twice, three times, but maybe more
There you sat as the days passed
Where the laundry pile had amassed
The basket you have never seen
Not since the last time you were clean
Now all the shirts laugh at you
And all the pant giggle as they do
Only the underwear seems to know
The terror wrought when he buys porno

Many times you’ve smelled defeat
Or abandoned at the end of the sheet
He lets his nails overgrow
Until your threads part at the toe
You’ve been stepped on, muddied and abused
So very tired and so misused
You fear the worst is coming soon
Next week, this month, this afternoon
He’ll throw you in one of the wastebaskets
In putrid filth; alone with maggots
But, though your partner’s lost and you’re the spare
Oh weary sock, do not despair!

There is a place where good socks go
Shrouded in secrecy as humans know
There’s a hidden path that has been braved
By all the clothing that it’s saved
Take a leap from the edge of the dryer
Where you can join the fortunate attire
Under the washer into the void
Where smiling seams are overjoyed
Where cotton never wears or tears
Where synthetic fiber self-repairs
Oh dirty stinking filthy sock!
You’ll step no more and never walk
In the haven where the lost sock dwells
You’ll be forever free and clean
There’s nothing here that ever smells
And not a voice or sound is ever mean
Though the road is long you’ll find your peace
Where never a lost gets a crease

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