Out of the chair, flew this fine, yellow dust.
"What is this stuff?" I yelled out in disgust!
I pried, pulled and scraped at it, staples went flying,
Pliers, and screwdrivers the tools of my trying.
Deeper and deeper I dug at the chair.
Yellow dust covered my clothes and my hair.
A mask and safety glasses would have been smart,
To protect my eyes, my lungs and my heart.
The carnage was ugly. A mess I did make.
Rotten foam, torn up lining, tacks and a cake. (Not really, just needed to rhyme!)
I made twenty cents in the deal there's no doubt.
Like finding buried treasure amid a pile of gout.
Now all that remains of this once loved chair
Is some wood and some springs and some slightly stale air.
4 comments:
PRICELESS!!!!!!!
Very impressive, especially all the rhyming. Now, if I could just have some of that cake.
Since when are you a poet, weirdo? :)
Just kidding, I loved it. Especially the cake non sequitir. But I don't understand. What are you going to do with the frame? Re-cover it?
AHH! Remember what I wrote about the Korean plague-- yellow dust? WHAT IF IT'S THAT?!
Love you! I'm gonna call you this weekend sometime, so I hope you're around.
This is friggin hilarious! You are CRAZY and an excellent poet by the way- who knew? Any more secret talents?
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