The Rusty Old Chair
I can see all your mocking stares over there,
And yes I’m speaking to you as well Claire,
Demeaning looks I find almost impossible to bear,
Don’t you all have anything to do but stare?
For I’m just nothing but a rusty old chair.
Middle aged lady with hair piled with no room to spare,
Body akin to that of a pear,
Hips too wide to spare a care,
Struggling to sit on a poor frightened mare,
She too does nothing but stare.
I wish I had a clue what to do,
Sometimes I pine to just try on a shoe,
Pet the cows out yonder that do nothing but moo,
Honestly I’d just like to try something new,
Then waste the days away with pitiful sessions of blues.
As one can see it isn’t that great being me,
At least local folk usually let me be,
Waiting in the meadow there next to that tree,
Longing for mortal death to cut this misery short and sweet,
Yet the reaper turns his back every time I plead.
Go on kids and enjoy that sweet grass,
Remember to always make bedtime hugs last,
Reminisce with Grandpa of old times past,
Salute the flag as it waves from the high wooden mast,
Enjoy youth while you can and for me, have a blast.