Of The Socks Poem by Hans Ostrom
Of The Socks
Someone's wearing the socks I almost bought.
I wonder how they're doing.
Does he, or someone, launder them well?
Have they been separated in the sock-drawer,
bound to unfamiliar others?
Yes, of course, I totally agree
that it is lunacy
to dwell on items not purchased,
to conjure a rival. Honest, I promise
to ponder critical issues later.
Sometimes, you know, socks
are listed under 'accessories.'
Preposterous. I think
I will call the fellow now.
I'm calling him. He's answering
wearing only those socks.
It's disgusting. I characterize
him as a fool. Oh, yes,
I characterize freely. He demands
to know who I am. I hang up.
I'm wearing a business suit.
I feel authoritative in it.
Except I'm barefoot.
Love it! I love the humour and the seriousness of this, the idiocy that I relate so well to, the loose assonance of honest I promise and I thought that the dénouement seriously funny, and delightfully serious! And I absolutely love the illogicality of knowing the phone number of the person who bought the socks! Thank you for the pleasure of reading this.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/4/2024 2:21:45 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Love it! I love the humour and the seriousness of this, the idiocy that I relate so well to, the loose assonance of honest I promise and I thought that the dénouement seriously funny, and delightfully serious! And I absolutely love the illogicality of knowing the phone number of the person who bought the socks! Thank you for the pleasure of reading this.