by Pam Verner

They all whisper
“But he wears weird socks —
don’t you know.”
“Under his grey tweed trousers,
and inside his black oxfords,” they all whisper,
“are weird socks.”
“He even wears them to church on Sunday,” they say,
“when he sits,
his tweed trousers slide up,
and expose —
his weird socks.”
So they all whisper
“He never takes off his weird socks —
don’t you know.”
Because under his tweed trousers,
and his black oxfords,
and his weird socks, they say,
“are weird feet.”
But when he goes home,
and goes to bed,
he takes off his tweed trousers,
and his black oxfords,
and his weird socks,
and lies in bed,
with his pretty feet.

And he smiles.