Not the conventional topic for a poem
I mean, it’s difficult to engage socks
Emotionally; they provide no loam
In which to seed a rhyming song that shocks
Or indeed wrings a tear, even remorse,
Even remembering drawers sorted through
After that death, discarded in discourse
Or gleaned in thrift, unworn, brand new,
But somehow not part of my own living,
Put aside to give away, out of sight,
And you would suppose that in the giving,
Peace could descend in that unwelcome night.
Sorrow abrasive to a threadbare soul,
May ease in time; it does not wear a hole.
Copyright © John Blake | Year Posted 2019