I see many strange sights while walking each evening. Tonight, I saw an old kitchen chair (chrome legs and red plastic seats - you know the type) standing out in a parking lot. There seemed no reason for its presence in the parking lot, but there it was, lonesome and chilly. What could be more natural than to compose an ode to the chair in the parking lot?
I often compose verses in my head as a mental exercise and to get my mind away from the daily problems that leave their dirty footprints on the plush carpeting of my mind. Lately, the footprints are so numerous and messy they overlap, so I decided to try a clean sweep. I composed the whole poem while walking in the dusk, while sweeping those grimy footprints away.
In the parking lot there stands an old chair,
A kitchen chair, sort of weathered and beat.
I've no idea who put it out there,
Or why its owner provided a seat.
Perhaps he wanted to sit in the sun,
And watch snow melt while the weather was nice,
But couldn't remove it when day was done -
For the legs are frozen in solid ice!
Why put an old chair, all naked and bare,
Where careless drivers could smash it apart?
Perhaps its owner just thought it a fair
New representation of modern art.
Whatever the reason the chair's out there,
I'm not tempted to use it, not one bit...
I've nothing against an old kitchen chair,
It's just too cold to go out there and sit.