Disclaimer –

Derek's work has been registered at the U.S. Library of Congress, so it would be a terrible financial idea to plagiarize or use any of the material found on this website for your own purposes. Nevertheless, enjoy the writing!

My Socks Are Trying To Kill Me



(1997)

I slip on my new argyle socks with unrequited care.
I compliment them on my feet, “Oh, what a smashing pair!”
I have no problem with my gloves, my scarf looks really hot;
My socks, though, are the garments that would like me deep in dirt.

They silently creep up my legs unless I keep them low.
Who knows how far they’d get if my reaction time were slow?
And just when I begin to think they’ve ceased their evil plot,
I find a sly, malicious sock still clinging to my shirt.

My socks have tried to kill me and I’m sure they’ll strike again.
I’m not sure how they’ll do it; I know not where or when.
My mother thinks I’m crazy and my girlfriend thinks I’m dense;
My shrink won’t see me claiming I’m a psychopathic liar.

I know that, when I sleep, my socks are planning my demise.
They look so peaceful in the drawer; it’s such a shrewd disguise.
And yet I know, beneath their warm, complacent countenance,
It’s not an accident when one is missing from the dryer.

So how should I obliterate these dreaded, awful foes?
Perhaps I’ll buy acidic shoes or grow talons on my toes.
Oh no, my socks are gazing at my quite suspiciously!
I have to go before my socks can find the cutlery.