The Couch

I’ve had this couch forever–
You can see the print of my ass
The grooves manipulating the floral print
Turn fat roses skinny
Fabric sunken in


The gravitational pull from the weight of my ass
Falls on soft air and hard stained oak wood floors
Where the hell did the couch go?

Maybe it conspired with the ottoman
And left me with this big vacant spot in the room

There’s a bruise on my left cheek
It’s turning an ugly, angry purple
It’s going to be awhile before I can sit again
Without a slight stinging

At least my house is still here.

1 comment
  1. carole said:

    Beautiful!!!! I love poems, and this one in particular is surely worth loving.

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