Ballad of the Socks

Socks – they come in twos,
  or so the story goes,
but mine have different views.
  It’s as if one chose
the right of a recluse
  to freedom, and won’t share it
in ways that others use.
  Each sock is a free spirit.

But while one sock pursues
  a lonely life, stays single
in the wrong drawer, to lose
  itself, and its twin Pringle . . .
another leaves long queues
  of the mismatched. I wear it –
to later learn the old news.
  Each sock is a free spirit.

These fellows who abuse
  the standards of society,
who skulk alone, or choose
  in colourful impropriety
each other to amuse . . .
  we have to grin and bear it,
and celebrate their hues.
  Each sock is a free spirit.

Reader, I say, excuse
  the darn lot. Or I swear it,
I wouldn’t be in your shoes.
  Each sock is a free spirit.