‘The inherent unfinishedness and unpredictability of language—the
fact that I can never deduce from any two of your words what the third
one is going to be—is a token of human freedom, and thus in a broad
sense political.’

—Terry Eagleton

I wear my socks odd, queer
bags a couple of feet from my

knees. I’ve heard that’s how

the first dykes snagged the fair
sex: maybe some night I’ll catch a feel.

Be honest, for that I wear my socks

spotted, freckled with eyes, crossed
all my t’s as a young thing. I wear

my socks beneath my boots, where

they can’t be seen. On very cold days
I wear my socks twice, and over my

tights, but always odd. I believe

that’s right, the way you can’t tell
what colour my knickers will be.