Faith is a Sock

Faith is a sock

Left overnight

in public dryer

Of a churning laundromat.


Where, under out hangover halos,

We swear the soda machines

Clang slower every week,

Soap thins to drool

And the milky glass

Of  the dryer portholes

Clouds up further

Every week.


We end up folding thing

and avoid feeling

Paranoid that out

Funhouse laundromat

Is crumbling down

Around our linen.


It’s not the kind of place

You’d risk to rest a sock in.


But if in the morning,

The dryer is empty

And your sock gone missing, eh:

Your out of a sock, so what?

And if your sock is still there

In the morning,

In this laundromat…

Well, you can put the sock on

Me, or I  on you,

And I won’t ask you why

You shivered.


When we slipped out

with our warm feet.


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