Unforgiven

Why won’t you speak to me?
Can you at least tell me where
my checkered golfing socks are?

I said ‘sorry,’ made a hang-dog face.
You laughed.
Then phoned your mother.

Now the  town knows
about the socks.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2022

Poem

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Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace