I am the empty chair you just recently
pushed into the carport like some unruly
child made to stand in a corner.
Not a new chair for sure,
but you made me Your chair
by the force of gravity,
transforming my cushion into
perfect contours in the image
of your ***.
Though you were always careful
if crumbs fell into me to get up
and brush them away,
and instead of just plopping down
******* me, you sat gentle and easy,
even if only doing so to soften the
shock for yourself,
there were moments as you sipped beer
you let it slip through your bottom lip,
dripping on me with bitter aftertaste.
Still, I was forgiving of that, and even
to those numerous occasions of you
venting your evening meals.
But the one event that forever sullied our
personal relationship was the morning you
woke on me soaked in most of the past
Though you tried to patch things up
with towels and scented sprays,
we were never to look upon
one another with the
I know now the days for me here number
far less than the buttons of the controller
you so frequently lost between my cushions,
giggling me in your efforts to retrieved it.
Although our separation will mean for me a
transformation into a twisted pile of springs,
stuffing, splinters and ripped cloth within the
bucket jaws of a front end loader in the snow,
I can take some comfort with me to the
resting pits of jettisoned human folly that
our severance was of no fault of my own.