What Did the Sock Say to the Needle?
by Sharmagne Leland-St. John

Darn!

If these moths don't stop eating
my wool socks, favourite vintage
Laura Ashley pullovers,
the silk scarf my mother gave me,
her cardigan twin sets I inherited after she died
and other expensive and well loved garments
I'll be forced to go into the streets naked!

I've tried everything
I've laid out old sweaters
shrunk in the laundry, for them to devour.
I've tried mothballs, cedar spray, pest traps,
yet they fail to stop the moths
from decimating my wardrobe.

I've even taken the little red pheromone strips
from the pest traps and laid them out
on a discarded turtleneck sweater,
from the Burlington Arcade in London
with a Post-it Note decreeing
"EAT ME" and an arrow pointing
to the feast I've set out before them …
All to no avail.

Perhaps I don't speak Moth,
I'm only qualified to speak Butterfly.



 

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