Socks

I’ve evolved some kind of fear,
That came out from my room,
Socks of mine, they disappear,
It’s a curse of each man’s doom.

Young, mature or retired,
All of us just look the same,
In our rooms or in the dryer,
Nonexistent socks became.

Jeans of mine get very tangled,
Tied themselves up in a knot,
And T-shirts of mine get mangled,
Though the washer’s newly bought.

Shirts get shrunk down in the washer,
In the dryer they’re hot,
With my guesses I grow cautious,
Thinking where these yet are not.

In the spin I’m round and round,
Trying to find my way out,
Socks nowhere are to be found,
To complete my laundry bout.

Dryer hums its evil strain,
Washer's howling at the moon,
And detergent in disdain
Got itself in sockless boon.

Static clings and won't let go,
Washer’s working its head off,
But where socks are I don’t know,
What a fate’s relentless scoff.

Socks rebel before the washing,
In some place they hold their ground,
And my laundry did the sloshing
With no sock of being found.

It’s a chore of mere looking,
How they play this hide-and-seek,
And the search that is worth booking
May consume entire week.

I tried reconciliation,
But it was a bit too late,
And to top my search frustration,
Laundry’s laughing at my fate.

Socks revolve imagination,
Here they spin and there they twirl,
But they lack the information
Where they snugly hide and curl.

What a jinx, it gives me shiver,
I was ready to my glee
A new pair to deliver,
But the old one is on me.