Mother loads our
work-worn clothes,
as I sit and watch in wonder--
the sweaty shirts and socks
spin as one.
Forcefully the water churns them
thoroughly.

People stow their
work-worn clothes,
as I sit and think in wonder--
the rocky floors of Earth
spin as one.
Forcefully society shapes
them, it's ideas of behavior conform them
thoroughly.

Mother unloads our clothes;
now smelling freshly laundered.
She throws in t-shirts, sweaters, socks
to the darkness of the dryer. I notice
one rusting red sock
still stuck to the side of the now still machine.

What does it take to be that sock?
To not follow the crowd,
or to speak out loud for everyone to hear?
How hard can it be to
shun normality?
To stop the dihonest gossip in schools,
or break society's laws?

Uniqueness is key,
if one wants to be free
of this world's sad conformity.

Mother picks up the rusty sock,
adding it to the dryer's darkness.
Until it's time to go home,
the clothes spin with the world.