SOCKS ON SAFARI 

I saw you hiding there when

I went to close the door.

Your white wet form was blending

With the enamelled floor.

How often have your cousins

Of blue, brown and black

Disappeared without a trace

When I’ve brought the laundry back.

Do they attend a rendezvous

Where single socks are free

To make my Monday washing day

A continuous mystery?

I’d really like to calculate

The many hours I’ve spent

Looking for your hideaway

Or tryst inside the vent.

Even when I count your pals,

And mate them up in pairs,

One of them escapes the load

By the time I get upstairs.

I persevere to find the twins,

Rejoiced when they match about.

I keep the ‘odds’ tucked in a drawer

But eventually throw them out.

If I ever find that secret place

I don’t know what I’ll do.

Presented with more single socks,

The discarded ones I’ll rue.

A simple plan I have devised

For socks bent on vacation.

All hose will be identical

To overcome frustration.

© J.Graham Ducker