One Kraken, green, in extra large
Note: The last poem was a result of mowing the lawn; this one was the direct result of hanging the laundry a year or so ago. I do have a giant dark green hoodie, although I do not wear it any more; I think that the comparison between style and method and execution are probably quite interesting. Also, I am tired.
It rises from the depths,
tentacles dangling,
limp and loose and huge and green,
a sluggish leviathan,
wrinkled with wet,
trussed and tied and tangled up
with strangling seaweed strands
of brown and beige and sepia sand:
the kraken waketh.
Untwist the tights that wrap around
the baggy, battered hoodie’s sleeves and hood,
and wonder just what creatures dwell in the washing machine
and take such delight
in tying knots,
and make a mental note to ask
how much it would take
to get them to pair your socks
instead.