Conversations with a chair
I know what you’re
thinking. You’re thinking, is this
a cushion, or is it upholstery? Well, to tell you
the truth, I’m kinda
hard of hearing these days, and I’ve forgotten
exactly what I’m doing with
The Chair With No Name.
You know, Mitt Romney don’t like people laughin’:
when you are merely
a plain unvarnished
seat for sitting upon, he gets the crazy idea
you’re laughin’ at him. Have you
heard of Mitt Romney? Good.
My mistake. Four coffins.
I talk to the trees. They’re wooden like you, only
with branches, and twigs,
and they grow
right out of the earth-brown earth.
Sometimes they have blossoms, and other times
they have fruit. And that
brings me to my theme, that you’re
not fit to sit upon, because you’re
plain, ornery, and you
have no castors. Yeah you’re raised up:
go ahead, make my dais.
Yeah, you got arms. Maybe you should just
unarm yourself. You could do with a table, something to
push you under,
somewhere to park yourself. So ask yourself
just one question:
do I feel Republican?
Well, do ya?
