jeudi 23 février 2012

The Sofa

The Sofa

The plaid pattern stung my eyes
it awaited its removal
tucked in a bare corner over all these years

There was no need to barter
I had all the silver and gold at my disposal
for it was written: this sofa had to be mine.

No paws but my own could touch her during the move
and as I heaved it through the threshold of the former besitzer
she coughed out her mattress,
like a forthcoming whale's tongue

It, in all its splendor,
was out of her box and jammed, unmoving,
I struggled with sweat dropping on the tiles despite the freezing weather
My bones were challenged and my recently torn hamstring
twanged like the loose chords of a harp

Not to be overcome I cursed the Gods, my mother Athena,
then ripped off my belt,
strapping it and wrapping it along its Main Spring
It worked: the convertible ceased to convert itself into a bed and
went back to being a sofa.

Dear reader, if you bemoan as I the treachery of having to move
this heavy settee by myself -read no further!
I trembled to think how, with one good leg, I would heave my
object of desire
to port

I was ready to abdicate my throne if She
wouldn't make it to my checkered palace.
So I hoisted before Lucifer's eyes this couch
until my fingers were burning and I lay cursing
the fallen angels, the burning tombs in Dante's Inferno
now I breathed



Again with hamstring twanging
I summoned my thoughts
not a King, not a squire in this land
e-portaled , web-connected or not
would send a vassal to deliver a couch in such conditions

Yet some movers are unlike mortals
frenzied, eyes riveted now over my
belt that held the holy spring
I shoved and moaned in the cold darkness
biting down on molars and
ignoring what not resources gone

Should I fall still on the street just one yard
from my chariot
let it be known that Love for colors and contrast
are One with Life

Nevertheless I insisted
howling and moaning
shaking the double-paned windows of nearby houses
waking damsels who blew out the candles on their ipads in fright
I hoisted this Thing into my chariot (of Swedish make)



Stuffing her with no respite
ignoring space
making my own physical laws
to get her in
I did

And when I did
the mermaids sang out from distant oceans
Now, convertible in tow, I exceeded limits set for speed
but the authorities let me pass
seeing my knees crunched into my neck
my Manlihood pressed into my throat
(I may or may not ever again sire children)

The angels opened the gates liberating me from Hell
The Sofa, in all her splendor,
took her place
and for me to rest on her.



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