WASH DAY STRAGGLER (Betjeman mode)
A sock lies still, alone and crumpled
Her husband left for partners-new
Tumbling midst myriad socky others
Occasionally coming into view.
Front-loader’s rumble whirr and hum
More versatile than Drake’s old drum.
Detergency now far outweighs
Matelot filth of far off days.
As Mr Sock has brief encounters
Socks it to them with that smile
Out-playing other cads and bounders
Hankies, small change and nail-file;
If socks can weep, weep now my sweet
Fond memories of sweaty feet
That red-rubbed toe of uncle Fred’s
And being lost beneath strange beds.
But what’s this new and anguished tone?
The pump is jammed deprived of flow.
A cry of sock-pain chills the others;
He’s gone where no sock ought to go.
The man with van is summoned hence
His fee includes no sundry pence.
“You’ve got a sock stuck in your outlet”.
Burly wisdom brooks no doubtlet.
A magic box of tools he spreads
Both lid and base all nooks and pockets.
It serves in lieu of true credentials
Housing wrench and copious sockets.
Applying his brawn to the appliance
He soon outwits its dumb defiance.
His native skill let no one knock;
In minutes he retrieves the sock.
Chucked limply down beside the missus
He dies - she lives - and doesn’t gripe
For living long she tastes what bliss is
Wedged in behind a noisy pipe.