Happy Feet

Dec 4 2017

Stiff, used sweat socks

tossed upon the floor.

Hand-knit wool

soft, and fleece, and warm.

Supple cotton slippers, that seamlessly conform

to cold callused feet

pleading for relief.

So it's through the door

and oxfords, brogues, and mary-janes

are instantly kicked-off,

cool athletic high-tops

chucked, or doffed, or dropped.

Along with heels, slip-ons, winter togs

chukkas, derbies, clogs,

patent leather, all-weather

made-to-measure

lost.

Galoshes, gumboots, steel-toes

and orthopaedic walkers,

the posh, and hip, and stylish

tacky, frumpish, awkward.

Tube sock, formal sock

shrunken, stretched, and torn,

new sock, used sock

hand-me-down and worn.

Ankle sock, knee sock, single size fits all,

darned sock, orphaned sock

on the door-knob in the hall.

Happy feet, and toasty toes

and nicely padded bottoms,

whimsical creations

with Santa Clauses on 'em.

The gift of socks

you hated as a kid,

but all a man could want

who has acquired the wisdom

of cold feet

and warm hearts

and hefty thermal socks.

Who is comfortable

in his own skin;

kicking-off his shoes,

and slipping-in

to thick cozy softness.