Mismatched

The nice thing about socks is that they always have a mate
You know when one is lost because it was made for another
Two by two, pairs, not ever alone, folded together
But life lived out is never that simple

One wears a hole or goes missing altogether
Or is eaten by the dryer
Somewhere between foot and shoe
hamper and washer and drawer
And the other ends up sitting there
On the top of the dresser
Alone

Perhaps one day you stop caring
Which was made for the other
And it finds someone else
Not made for it
Made for another
But a pair all the same

And maybe it’s not perfect
To the eyes of those who say things must be a certain way
But it’s still together
And that’s what counts
To keep you warm.