They live in the corner, where your hand can’t reach. Behind the washing machine;
inside old suit cases, stuffed away and forgotten. They disappear
down the side of your bed; a hairs-breath away from your slumbering head.
You may hear them scuttle, as your finger touches the light switch: a muffled,
soft cotton-wool burr. And when the night comes, they come out. They roll and roll,
until the embers of dawn begin to glow. Then scuttle away in light flight.
They are the beat-up old sock you thought was lost,
the ones that never return from a wash.
This piece of writing is featured in PEN’s e-book, The Dictionary of Made-Up Words, made in partnership with the European Commission Representation in the United Kingdom. Read the whole book!