poem

Decorative Chair

There’s a lone decorative chair over there

Against a wall, facing another wall;

Flanked by a non-committal table displaying 

A framed piece of objet d’art,

Faux wood etched with a scripted “Love Lives Here”.

But no one loves this chair.

No one ever sits there,

To read, to sip some tea,
To wait for someone to find their keys.

Gray-green velvety skin

Stretched taut over a thin cushion.

Armless, austere, propped on skinny mahogany pegs,

Uninviting, forlorn, don’t bother;

You’d be better off just leaning against the wall.

The back seems to lean forward

As if it were itching to spring up

And bound from this room

Like a deer disturbed in the wood.

It looks anxious over there, thwarted,

Unable to become the thing it was crafted to be.

Not really seen, it accents nothing---
Meta-being alone is thin gruel for anything.

It just wants to get out of here, ok?

Go someplace where it can be a chair.

But it’s trapped, unloved, unrewarded;
It isn't going anywhere,

Stuck in a room where nothing seems fair.

1/13/20