Condoms in a pond

It was summer and I wore sandals and white socks

my feet looked English. A snob with sandals on

manicured toes murmured about shameless taste.

Offended took the white socks off through them

Into the pond where they floated forlorn as

spent condoms, like there had been ejaculations

by a thousand submariners  on shore-leave and

now sadness remained cast a shadow on still

water an omen of evil intent. Sober, I regretted

my hurriedness fished the socks up, wrung and put

them back on. My English feet which applauded,

why should we care what a man with manicured

toes thought.