There is a needle in my hand

a needle I pull thread into

and darn the holes in my socks

old socks I cannot bear to throw away


I should buy some more you know

But still I must repair these before

I give them away

to someone needier than me;

after all what will they say about such

holy socks.


I look at the big hole by the toe

and wonder how to fill it properly

how much to pick up from the side

and pull across...

oh! what about the right color to match

these argyle socks are the worst

so many colors to match.


I work and work and work

I justify and recreate

I plan I reason

late into the night

Ah! finally the old socks look like new


Now I can show someone my socks

they might even like them enough to keep

just like all the lies I tell myself

may actually be believed.

One day.