support group

your life has been
getting out of hand.
you realize
this as you do your laundry
and look at the pile
of socks sitting
in an enormous
pile on the floor,
black and white,
a few with stripes,
some brown, some
tan, but mostly
as I said, black
and white. dress
and athletic socks,
some are the little
ankle high socks,
some come up
to your calf.
others rise someplace
in the middle.
many are old, worn,
torn, holes.
shredded with loose
threads that get caught
on your toes.
some are bleach splashed,
with white dots,
others are still
dirty despite the
heavy duty cycled
wash. but many are new
too. bunched in
their wrappers,
four for the price
of three. tags
still in place.
you finally break
down and go to a support
group to help you.
you need someone to
talk to, to come
clean with your problem.
you stand up,
nervously in front
of the congregation
of other lost souls,
your head bowed down,
chin against chest.
you say your name
softly, and say
I have an addiction.
I can't stop buying
new socks.
they welcome you warmly
with cheers
and applause,
taking off their
shoes to reveal their
socks, holding
their feet in the air,
finally
someone that understands
you.