The Chair

The Chair

Some circle beautifully in swivel.

Their long locks swing, busy rumoring, while others sit exotically,

on loveseats talking cheap,

with tails that pony…while some are gorgeously rocking,

the chair that moves to and fro, feeling too proud to say hello,

with weaves worn right down to the floor,

or on ottomans and footstools with heady booze….

The bean bags have hags with short cuts, not wearing much,

chatting to chicks with Chinese bobs,

on chaise lounges like jobs.

And still yet, others are stylin’ wigs on Lazy Boys,

only caring about boys as toys…

And I, with my mangy cut and lion mane tints,

goes out and sits,

on a cross cord chair with buttons, levers, and a switch.

The others glanced n’ glimpsed, wouldn’t dare sit in it,

didn’t know if it was  battery operated, how to elevate it,

or if you could lay in it… if it undulated…

downwardly descending and ascending, dizzying dames,

after it oscillated.

It was beyond them, to understand how it levitated.

They were clueless on how to work my chair.

But didn’t need to know, because they knew how to work theirs.

And I was filled with glee,

knowing no one could cheat and take my seat,

because that specific chair was made for me.

Written and Illustrated by:

Almavida 2012