48/365: Ed Norton Fantasy Poem #6

Ed Norton,
do you sit around in striped boxers
wearing white sports socks?
Or do you wear those thin, dressy socks
with the fancy patterns?
Do you buy your own socks?

I only ask this,
because I had a dream last night
that you were watching tv with me,
and your boxers were striped,
and you'd pushed the heel of your right foot
between the toes of your left foot,
which jambed your socks down
like you'd been wearing them with thongs,
but my dream didn't fill in the sock detail very well.
I think I got sidetracked
when I thought about how
that space between your big toe and second toe
is probably soft and warm, like baby skin.

I bet you get those pedicures
with the little fish that eat your callouses.
If I owned your little foot skin eating fish,
I'd name them all Ed Norton,
because they'd be made of Ed, technically,
and I would sell each one on eBay for only the cost of shipping,
because it would be like a charity for lonely people,
and there would be little pet Ed Norton fishes
in apartments across North America.
In a way, your feet would be a generous wellspring of pet friends.
The lonely people could write them off as health expenditures,
and you would be like Jesus with the loaves and fishes,
only you would be Ed Norton with the dead foot skin and fishes.
You and Jesus, Ed.
Who would've guessed?

So, Ed,
do you buy your own socks?
Do you own your own foot fishes?
Are your boxers stripey?
Am I a love dream prophetess?
Call me.

#365poems at Schmutzie.com