Notes on Chairs
Each city doles out spare seats: folding
chair theatres, dollar cinemas, outdated
booths in kitsch restaurants with catchy ads.
Benches squat on corners like tired whores,
sagging under bus riders and pinch-faced mothers.
Stools, though backless, are paradigms
of correct posture. They must stay stolid
under creaking weights of drunks and dunces.
Recliners, like the one my grandmother lived
and died in with its torn vinyl and cat piss
and spiderwebs of cotton spilling out, always
mouth remotes to imagine the taste of Animal
Planet or Jersey Shore.
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