It's Still Life

And this is the end,
the car running out of road,
the river losing its name in an ocean

— “Aristotle” by Billy Collins

THE SOCK BOX

How many pairs of socks did she murder
in that communal washing machine that
breaks up pairs of sporty whites and blacks
and stripy and even cutesy Christmas ones.
It’s a skeleton coast. And this is the end,

where unpaired socks go. Like what
Chris Martin and Gwyneth Paltrow did.
Unpairing, as the phrase goes, and I
don’t believe for a sec that they’re
still besties. I reckon it’s more like
the car running out of road.

But here I am, looking into an old Ked’s
shoebox, size 8, white canvas, and it’s
filled with odd socks. Just one of each.
As if the other one went walkabout, and
couldn’t remember it was a sock, like
a river losing its name in an ocean.

Nudge 4: A Glose Poem. Take a relatively short poem. The first line is the last line of your first stanza. The second line is the end of your second stanza. Etc. There are strict rules that some use, but you should ignore them unless your head wants to ache.