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 Iíve brought the laundry back.


Do they attend a rendezvous

Where single socks are free

To make my Monday washing day

A continuous mystery?


Iíd really like to calculate

The many hours Iíve 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 Ďoddsí tucked in a drawer

But eventually throw them out.


If I ever find that secret place

I donít know what Iíll do.

Presented with more single socks,

The discarded ones Iíll rue.


A simple plan I have devised

For socks bent on vacation.

All hose will be identical

To overcome frustration.

© J.Graham Ducker



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