The Last Sock

I hate it when this happens. A single
Sock remains, defiant, staring at me
From the dryer where I cornered her. She
Had a partner; they were seen together
Numerous times. Rumor has it they once
Took a tumble together, then paired off.
Perhaps their romance grew too static, and
She clung too tightly; but it’s more likely
She saw they were trapped, so she stayed behind
While he hotfooted his way to freedom.
A brave act, perhaps, but a foolish one;
The Bureau is hard on cases like her.
She’ll end up in solitary, sentenced
To hard labor polishing silverware.
As for him... I condemn his selfishness.
Wherever he’s gone, it’s not sock heaven.