A Hole in My Sock
Here I sit with a hole in my sock
That I sure didn’t see there before;
Where did it come from I have to wonder…
Perhaps it was from my drawer!
Ah yes, a sock eating whatcha-macall-it must be living there,
Something that I just can’t see.
But then why does it only eat some of the socks
And lets all the other socks be?
Oh I know! It’s the washer! Yeah that must be it,
Those things sure can be pretty mean.
It gobbles up little pieces of socks you know;
When it’s supposed to be making them clean.
Maybe I’ll invent some sort of solution to stop it,
You could add it in with the detergent.
I’d better get right on that, I’m running low on socks—
And that makes the matter quite urgent.
Oh, wait! That old dryer is most likely the culprit,
It eats socks whole but I can never catch it.
When it comes time to get the laundry out of the dryer;
There’s always a lone sock and I can’t match it.
Maybe this time it had eaten so many socks
That by the time it hit this one it was full.
Or perhaps it wasn’t expecting this synthetic blend
And it was holding out for 100% wool!
Then there are the kids who see really tiny holes
And seem to have nothing else to do.
So they play with the hole until, lo and behold,
It is now the size of the shoe.
Then there are those holes that just all of a sudden appear
As if God said, ‘let it be’ and just like that it was there.
None of the usual wear down or the dreaded wear and tear
A whole in the sock created by none other than the air!
Where do those holes come from? We may never know
I’ve seen the holes come, yet not seen them go.
But for now I’ll keep buying my socks by the sack,
Because one thing is certain… The holes will keep coming back!