There's a chair in the
middle of the room,
It presses against
carpet with four thin legs
and is stuck rigid
forced to endure.
It's master gives no
promise
that it will be
relieved of it's duty,
the wooden frame groans
as decaying muscle
waits.
Brown jacket sits on an
unfamiliar lap.
Naked pockets inside
lay thin and sick
as the material weeps
over knees
and waits.
Foreign hands curl
gently and lame;
they fall loose, then
rise
as jacket smothers hair
and face
and becomes engulfed
in a smell that stains
the fabric
from the outside.
