One Sock

One sock, schizophrenic father of eight, so much alone. Seething and sagging up and down the road fleeing invisible enemies and their sharpest aches.

He undresses, except for one sock, and shouts “I want to forget myself.”

He stands on the shore of an invisible, peaceful, not a breath morning lake, testing the water with a toe before plunging in.

He swims sluggishly amidst the laughter of those who only see asphalt and detritus.

He waves to them and says, “I am not alive.”

Such agony living can bring.