I Love to Write
Collateral casualties.
So that's it,
I have for too long
Contemplated the desolation,
and muted my frustration.
I have today decided to tackle,
One of adult's life
greatest mysteries.
Resolved to find answers,
I set on my quest.
High on chairs
precariously defying gravity.
Folded in awkward position,
Like a Yoga master,
I slither on my stomach,
Moving in ways
That we humans abandoned
after the gift of limbs.
I meticulously work
the house in a grid,
Picking up clues
scratches and bruises.
Breathing dust
and collecting
mental notes.
I look through drawers,
and under the beds,
behind furniture,
and deep in baskets.
I crawl between sheets
and over pillows;
Through piles of
creased laundry,
awaiting ironing;
Behind desks, bookshelves
and curtains.
I peek behind piles of toys
awaiting to be put away.
In gym and ballet bags,
In pockets and trousers.
Some I find, but
rather than
providing solutions
just add more questions.
Many still elude me.
They are like
mystical creatures,
much spoken about
but rarely seen.
Do they go to
some hidden caves?
Do they have
the power of invisibility?
Are they abducted
by some peculiar collector?
It is insane,
how so many go missing,
collateral casualties
of laundry days,
I will not end my search
before I reunite
at least most of
the orphaned socks.
So that's it,
I have for too long
Contemplated the desolation,
and muted my frustration.
I have today decided to tackle,
One of adult's life
greatest mysteries.
Resolved to find answers,
I set on my quest.
High on chairs
precariously defying gravity.
Folded in awkward position,
Like a Yoga master,
I slither on my stomach,
Moving in ways
That we humans abandoned
after the gift of limbs.
I meticulously work
the house in a grid,
Picking up clues
scratches and bruises.
Breathing dust
and collecting
mental notes.
I look through drawers,
and under the beds,
behind furniture,
and deep in baskets.
I crawl between sheets
and over pillows;
Through piles of
creased laundry,
awaiting ironing;
Behind desks, bookshelves
and curtains.
I peek behind piles of toys
awaiting to be put away.
In gym and ballet bags,
In pockets and trousers.
Some I find, but
rather than
providing solutions
just add more questions.
Many still elude me.
They are like
mystical creatures,
much spoken about
but rarely seen.
Do they go to
some hidden caves?
Do they have
the power of invisibility?
Are they abducted
by some peculiar collector?
It is insane,
how so many go missing,
collateral casualties
of laundry days,
I will not end my search
before I reunite
at least most of
the orphaned socks.
