Poem by Festival Poet Lauren Murray

Rant for the Sad Old Chairs


A chair sticks around the house awhile,
takes its space,
runs the household if you let it.

I have burned a few chairs on a cold day,
chairs I especially hated.
Just to get them off my mind.

I like to set ugly ones at the end of the driveway
for people to take away for free—
oh they do.
I have a few good candidates piling up.
That horrible green one on wheels from Bela
(he’s off in Montreal).
The one whose bottom sags
that Jim’s grandfather sat in—
cats threw up on that cushion too many times.

The busted cane rocker...that will burn nicely.

It’s a vendetta of some kind.
I’m just waiting for Grandma’s brocade
to act up and out it goes.

I’m not fond of chairs.