I Saw A Sock Upon A Bollard

Is there anything more civilising

than knitting?

A gathering together,

an endearing donning,

a putting on of love,

a deconcreting,

a consecration,

a Holy moment in the middle of the road,

a counterweight

to the heavy load of the built.

A domestic departure from ceaseless architecture

that clogs the arteries of life.

Who knew a little sock

could put that right?

A cardigan cuddles a tree trunk,

a beanie breaches an urban barrier,

it carries a burden far greater than its size—

it defies the high rise,

that surrounds it.
It reveals a truth

behind the lies of asphalt,

it ties us to our mother

it says all men are brothers,

it doesn’t bother with pretension,

it doesn’t need to get attention.

Its simple statement of knit and purl

puts worldly worth into perspective —

and challenges the bored and restive.

It quietens the heart.

It starts a dialogue with the dreadful,

and when all is said and done,

the knitted world is fun.