My famous black socks
Michael Dickel
At three in the morning
I hand wash my socks,
my bladder emptied,
the toilet flushed.
These pressure socks
help stop the pain
and swelling from
my varicose veins.
I realize the water
will never run clear,
black dye running
away from the
responsibility,
I assume. And
I think, this poem
is not very sexy.
For that, I should
lay next to my wife,
who sleeps in
the next room as
I wring the socks.
We should share
a cigarette. You
know, how the
movies used
to show sex.
Except we don’t
smoke. And we’ve
spent the day
caring for her
mother with cancer
and a broken arm.
I caught up on a bit
of work tonight,
wrote to a couple
of friends, edited
something, sent
a poem or two
to editors who
know or don’t
know me.
Well,
my socks will be
clean. And, I think,
that’s not so bad.
© 2017, Michael Dickel
This made me smile, Michael. And who says clean socks are not sexy? 😉 Wonderful slice of life poem!
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Washing them isn’t so sexy. 😂
There’s a line in an Alan Bates movie where he’s a lecherous professor — something about nothing sexier than a woman in nothing but stockings and a garter and nothing more ridiculous than a man in nothing but stockings and a garter…
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