In Praise of Socks (Poetry)

A girl can’t have too many socks —
ankle, calf-length, past the knee
the queen of footwear really rocks —
a lesser-praised accessory.

An unmatched gathering of gloves
piles up at such dismaying cost
through carelessness — poor cast-off loves
right or left hand missing — lost.

And scarves — bold bygone fancies wound
on hangers under unworn coats
those sale reductions impulse found
worn once but itched or tickled throats.

While handbags come and handbags go
and fashion changes with the clocks
but nothing fazes heel and toe
or redesigns the shape of socks.

Hats prove fickle all too soon
seem dated photo album jokes —
braved some wedding afternoon
between two topper-hatted blokes

but faded fast — what charm they had
waits tissued in an unmarked box
ignored — forgotten — it’s too bad
they lack the timelessness of socks.

For socks are truly versatile —
bold and jazzy or discreet —
plain or patterned, ribbed, Argyle —
the say so much about the feet

that wear them — stylishly urbane
they make a statement — quietly shout
their character and strutting vain
let timid inner divas out.

And females throughout history
from Joan of Arc to Goldilocks
know the truth — and all agree —
no girl can have too many socks.