Toxic Sock Farm

I have a problem with my feet.

In winter of all times each sweats–

Olfactor’ly my nose doth meet

Odorific fulminance.


Sad, Sino-socks—none can contain

What each should best be hidin’.

Wife, she winces, pinches spent

Pairs from the toxic garden


Into laundry chutes they’re spurned–

Returned to Sino-Biden:

“These, your profits, these you’ve earned

“In China’s breast abidin’.”


Yet as I wear the pairs Red-crafted

Doff the pairs each night.

Consign them not to laundry baskets–

Noses, eyes, from site.

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