Maybe it’s been there a week

Sometimes life surprises you like that

 

But there it was

A couple blocks from my house

 

A recliner the color of tired goldrush

Sitting on the northeast corner of the the intersection

 

A hole head-height

Worn threadbare from the weight of thoughts

 

I imagine in its proud earlier days

More citrus, more orange, with a hint of lemon

 

Now it sits there un-sat

A silent, stationary traffic guardian.

 

I wonder if there is a such thing as

Chair purgatory

Or if like Sisyphus the chair

Is mocked by the gods

And doomed to sit unfilled…unfullfilled…

Its arms outstretched, awaiting the weight

Of human touch

No more

 

Perhaps, with its last days of chair dignity left,

It remembers grandparents and unexpected company

It holds watch

For hospitality