Free
by Chelsea Wood
The print is not ideal,
it's true. Nor do I cherish
the idea of that hefty bulk
lurking in a corner
of our tiny living room.
The cushions would suit.
No, the real objection
here is the fabric darkened,
heavy with rain water,
and the spray of dirt
from the spurn
of cars passing by.
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Author's Note
Brief, observational poem
Other stories by Chelsea Wood
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But it was a *perfectly good* chair someone was throwing away!
I like the descriptions here. I like this chair. And the losing ... finding ... inescapable decay of time and place ... cars passing by. Nice work. *
"Spurn." Perfect choice of words and perfect placement. *
I like all the unexpected things I find in this small poem. The attention to detail is great. And I agree with Jake about 'spurn'.