Calcetines

We were so poor
when we were growing up
Christmas meant

a pair of socks for me,
and that was it.
My uncle Frank

and Aunt Luisa
gave me those socks
once a year

whether
I needed them
or not.

These were not the socks
from Neruda’s
Ode To A Sock,

these were not
Kafka’s
insect socks,

these were not
sock drawers
in a Borges mirror,

these were plain and simple
brown, chicano
socks.

Now all
I needed
was zapatos.