D. A. Prince: Metaphysical Socks

You wonder, don’t you, how on earth a sock–
any old sock, not special – goes and gets
lost, know what I mean. It’s no big shock,
of course, but still. So let’s suppose, just let’s

think about it. They’re in matching pairs,
right – that’s how they come, your socks and – when
you’ve worn them once you drop them on the stairs –
or in a basket if you’ve got one – then

into the wash along with other stuff.
It isn’t rocket science, is it? Fine;
your cycle’s finished, it’s been spun enough
and so you peg it all out on the line.

But when you sort them later there’s just one,
so where’s its mate gone? No clue. Your machine
is empty. You look round. There’s nothing. None.
Can’t get my head round this, know what I mean?