As I sit on you, oh broken lawn chair,
thinking about her forlorn stare,
like a devil trapped in a unicorn lair,
I ask you, oh chair, "Is it fair?
Is it fair she should be stuck over there
whilst I'm stuck here?"
Oh chair, broken, broken lawn chair,
I know you don't speak
but to me your point is clear
I ask you, broken lawn chair,
is any of this really fair?
But you don't reply
Not, I suspect
because you're beyond repair...
suffering from wear and tear
is really neither here nor there,
you seem to say
There was a time this obstinacy
would make me mad;
so what an oddity
it should make me glad
No, I don't hate you,
oh lawn chair that's broken;
you heroic token
of a life that once was
but now is not,
surveying this sunken plot
as the ivy climbs the fence
since she was taken hence
Suddenly, sitting here,
my dusty face tracked by a single tear,
I ask you, faithful chair, "was I too hard on her?
Why, oh why, oh why
did I dismiss her as my gardener?"
Poem submitted as part of this week's Ode Challenge. If you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a resteem. I'd appreciate it.
Photo by Kate Tandy on Unsplash