Packs of five, wooly, striped, toes like a glove.
Searching through the pile for the one that you love.
Under the bed, stuck to the shelf.
Your about to have sex with yourself.
Chain-smoking, overweight, sweaty spectacle.
Tearing up the gaff for your favorite receptacle.
3 and a half billion women do not flock,
To the house of William Wanksock.