SEVENTY FIVE

That pink sock is kind of haunting. -R
It has been caught in this tree on the path I run for a few weeks now. Part of me wants to pluck it out; part of me says that it is not mine to take. It's an ironic sight, these four-plus years after the storm, in a recently refurbished park. A small, pink reminder of what still hangs just three miles south. -K