after a person does their laundry,
they go about sorting their socks.
mixing and matching pairs,
finding what goes with what.
and - inevitably -
no matter how neat they are,
there will always be an odd pair.
a high cut with a low cut,
a white with a gray,
two that no one would say could match.
but they stuff one inside the other,
having nothing else to do with them,
lest they throw them away forever.
that's us.