The Darn Sock Connection, a parody

Why are there so many
Socks in the dish pan?
I think that the boys have lied.

Socks aren’t a weapon;
Aren’t doilies or dishes.
They shouldn’t be balled up or tied.
So boys’ve been scolded; I doubt they
Were list’ning.
Their feet will be cold, wait and see.

One day I’ll miss it:
The clothes never flying;
And dishes, instead of hos’ery.

©2019 Chelsea Owens

Home Life Poetry

The Laundry

I start the clothes
Then, finds some holes
In folds and soles
Then thinks
Or yells,
-‘Midst stinks
And smells-
“It’s time to switch up roles!”

nik-macmillan-153579-unsplash.jpg


 

Stay At Home Mothering Melancholia

Some days I sit or stand or write and sigh.
I feel the world; it turns without an I.
Yet stand I still and sigh as still I stand
And wonder at my world of self-made sand.

A day in ten, I’ll press against the glass;
See others, walking, smiling, talking past.
They wave; I raise a hand, a shy half-smile.
Some beckon; No, I say, to thoughts erstwhile.

I’ll stay and stand and sigh and write today;
I’ll watch and lift my mouth a twitch and wave;
I’ll cry and sift some sand from out’ the way;
I’ll forget this melanchol’ia. I’m okay.

jules-marchioni-697854-unsplash

Photo Credit
Nik MacMillan
Jules Marchioni

Hand Me Down

Find me; fold me;
Box me away.
I’ve shrunk; he’s grown
-Who’s to say?

Write that; tape that;
Label that box.
I’ll tell; you’ll read
Of suits and socks.

Fill this; close this;
Set this there.
I’m stored; I’m saved
For another wear?

Hand me down; Land me down;
Gift me once more.
Open me; unfold these
Wear till I’m wore.

Intervention

Hello. I’m Chelsea. And, I am a sock-aholic.

It all started when I attended Fred Meyer’s Black Friday Sale. Suddenly, expensively inaccessible footwear was accessible. I can feel my toes twitching even now, just thinking about those boxes and boxes completely full -and at half the price.

They had all wool, cotton with moisture wick, and part spandex thigh-high business casual. They had toe socks (which we webbed-feeters can’t actually wear), nylons in packages instead of eggs, aloe-infused fuzzy cuddlewear, and patterned boot stockings.

I bought a pair of thick, wool hiking socks last time -after selecting sensible white pairs of cotton blend (super soft and stretchy!) for everyday, of course.
When I’m dressing, I reach for the alluring stripes, itching to put them on.

But, no -I bought these to put inside hiking boots. I did not buy them to put inside houses (and, in cars, outside, etc.)

Actually, that’s my other confession: I hurt the socks I love. I frequently take a lovely, thick pair out in the garage or down the street to the neighbor’s.

Most days I’m good, but sometimes the pull is too strong.

Socks speak to my sole.