Poems Primarily Narrative (or not)

The Fugitive

Sat down to have my lunch

Took my sandwich's first bite

The dryer bell went off

As one would guess it might

Had to get the clothing out

Or it would be a wrinkled mess

Should have known better

Than to try and eat I guess

First thing that I noticed was

I was missing one white sock

Did a walk around to no avail

Now my lunch was on the clock

Through legs of pants and sweater sleeves

Inside the machine and on the floor

Where on earth could it have gone

I closed the window and locked the door

Anger and frustration mounting

I crawled beneath the bed

Nothing there, nothing but

Dust bunnies on my head

Where the hell could it have gone

Time flying I shouted down the halls

Were there more somewhere hidden

A sinister band of sock cabals

Then I turned toward the dresser mirror

And noticed accidentally by my stance

The white cotton fugitive clinging

Tightly... to the leg of my pants

Aaarrrrgh!