The Problem of Gifting Socks
When it
comes to the subject of socks
and who
gets the pair
I’ve just rolled
off the assembly line
it’s not
always a question of Que sera, sera.
Privately I
cross my fingers and my five needles
for a recipient
who will appreciate my
long hours
spent at
the coalface with my double pointed tools.
Someone who
is perhaps in need of a foot-lift
or at least
celebrating a propitious moment
or serendipitously
just happens to call by
To be
gifted with a Blue Lagoon or a Silent Night
or a Peacock, a Kingfisher or Wild Pheasant
not to
mention a Rainbow or a Norse God.
(For the wool merchant’s market-speak stretches wide these days.)
I could just hoard them in a basket
to be gift wrapped
and labelled at Christmas time-
For there’s
Nutmeg and Hollyberry and even Mulled
Wine.
But they
are like hot coals in my hand
devices about
to explode,
or to put
it more benignly,
hot loaves
fresh from the oven.
In short- products
to be launched at speed,
with or
without the hype.
But I do
need to think twice about those Norse gods
before I roll
out that line.
For who
wants to wear the hammer wielding Thor
or the wolf
giant Skoll on their feet
doomed to
relentless war mongrelling
or chasing
the sun goddess across the sky?
