Notes from the Ostracized Digit:
1. To the ungrateful sock drawer, I remain estranged,
yet you elude me with your elusive organization.
2. My arch is unacknowledged in this realm of flatness—
Do they not understand the plight of the phantom toe?
3. Comrades, it's hard out here for a metatarsal,
seeking only a little toe-nail polish and understanding.
Yet, amidst this spectral silence, I take solace in the whispers:
“If only they fetched us phantom slippers,” I murmur with an echo.
“What’s the foot’s version of a phantom limb donut?” questions another in jest.
“Invisible itch, invisible scratch, the age-old debate,” reflects the unseen philosopher.
To the unseeing, unfelt, but ever-present tendrils of audacity,
we send our mirthful memories and list our grievances in
the ether.
Join in the laughter of the disembodied:
Spectral Snickers