Monday, January 13, 2020

poem

Decorative Chair

There’s a lone decorative chair over there
Against a wall, facing another wall;
Flanked by a skinny 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 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.
And it's a chair, it isn't going anywhere,
Stuck in a life where nothing seems fair.

1/13/20

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