Socks

Oh woolly pretender

with the puppet smile

you fake.

You look spotlessly shiny,

in attire designers make.

Such a fine example

of man

others would think.

But they don’t really know you

and how low you would sink.

You think you’ve found your footing

in power and control.

Keen to wear the biggest boots

to kick in touch a soul.

You are the great suspender

of happiness and life,

hose others with your morals

while you belt your wife.

Establishing your wooden heart

covered your feign is care.

Perfectly a gentleman

until nobody’s there.

Then afoot in anger

apprehension braced,

looking for a basis

to sock her pretty face.

Every fault you’re stocking

from her cooking to her dress

she will walk on tip toes

while you try and oppress.

Ever doting husband

the outer world you trick,

as you make her toe the line

with another kick.

So refined a real man

in your fist and suited socks,

nothing but a loser

nothing but a cock.

.

©Jacqui Slade

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