Munday on Monday: Socks

It can’t be fun to be a sock

Whose lowly status others mock.

Their purpose? For the feet they’re bought

And which (you figure) smell a lot.

A sole amusement comes their way;

It happens on the laundry day.

’Cause in the dryer, round and round,

The socks in ecstasy are found.

(It’s almost like a barrel ride

At carnivals.) Then back outside

To cover feet, as someone thinks;

Their occupation really stinks.

This story was originally published January 8, 2017 at 3:30 PM.