Poem # 1 from the Arts Fest reading

My reclining chair broke his hip last week,
And being as he was old and had seen better days
That was it.
No sense in reconstructive surgery.

Tuesday he goes to the curb,
To await the undertaker,
With nothing to look forward to but
the resurrection of the upholstery.

“Remember chair that thou art dust
and to dust thou shalt return.”

It hurts, what with all those years of intimacy,
To send him away, but what could I do?

I ache, in part, because
I’ve become, with age, a Lazy Boy too.

Maybe when my hip breaks,
The kids can get another Daddy at the store
And, come Tuesday, take me to the curb.