Lonely white sock
I have a lonely white sock
And it’s torn,
The ankle bone peeking out
a small round hole,
An odd reminder of pairs that
once matched,
Hollow batches of past clothes
we’ve grown out of,
Defiant of its final journey to the bin,
It survives, emotionally attached.
I have a pair of grey trousers,
one of two hems is ripped,
Bedtime casualty of a clumsy regret.
It once had trendy new looks,
although now seemingly by waves of years
fret,
Overused, tired, worn-out,
But it still does what’s required of it
best,
Needs than most trousers
I haven’t tried on
will ne’er surely met.
Comfortable, that is.
In the morning rush
I try not to pair one torn sock to a ripped hem,
Unsuccessful attempt,
The spectacle of it,
as I cross my legs on my daily commute,
On the passenger seat,
Humours the coffee drinking, chin masked lady
that sits opposite me.
I don’t seem to be capable to get rid of most things
Nor I seem to be able to repair what could,
If put back together,
Be mended to new service and means,
But, uncaring of my lapses and slips,
Those broken parts of mine seem to have
a most wilful disposition and wit
In finding their way to their suitable fit
So to make it all the more evident
That there’s something unsettling off
With the way I pair what it was
with what it could actually be.
By ©Roberto C. Salvador 2021
