The morning after presented a
bonanza in abandoned thongs –
not always eminently paired but
still useable as they’d been worn.
My own pair of Rivers Soft
washed up easily identifiable
amongst the general flotsam
adrift after the Orchard wedding.
I resurrected an olive-green pair,
spongy-soled pretties jettisoned
when a pulled strap proved beyond
it owner’s inebriated fingers.
The bounty still arrests me and
I resist the call to dump them in
the bin – that is a sin I will not
contemplate with sole brothers.
I am a man of many thongs, at
least ten pairs to wear as I fancy.
And if I were to be asymmetric,
you can easily make that twenty.
© 17 April 2007, I.D. Carswell
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