I am an odd sock

with a partner in the wash, clean

and crisp when tumbled,

whilst I remain

unseen, possibly discarded

at the bottom of the laundry basket,

never quite being the one

to feel the detergent wash through

every fibre and rub shoulders

with the gods of tie-dye illusion.

 

I am an odd sock,

and where my partner smells so sweet

in the drawers I just remain dirty, tossed

hopefully into the bin

but always gathering dust

behind the fridge where I fall,