TS (7th October 1969 / Islington, London)

Do Chairs Have Feelings Too?

Is a chair aware of the derriere there?
Does it care that you take up its space?
Does it ever purport to offer support
As you stick your rear in its face?

Are the squeaks and creaks just the screams and shrieks
Of an upholstered nervous wreck
As it winces in pain from the terrible strain
Of the heaving behind on its deck?

Does it teeter and quiver from that time after dinner
When it underwent Aunt Bessie’s arse
Does it shudder at sittings or noisy emissions
From the ghosts of backsides past?

Does it quietly quake and its poor legs shake
As a feline approaches its host
To be pawed and clawed and chewed and torn
And scarred like a scratching post

Do they bruise when we bang them against the table?
Or hurt if we break their backs?
Do they dream of deck chairs they met by the sea
Or enjoy being stored in stacks?

Maybe not! I suspect they feel nought
But nonetheless heed what I say
Treat your chairs kindly else they fall to bits
And then- when you sit- it gives way

For chairs are supportive but suffer, like us
From the stresses that may come to pass
So just move your chair with a little respect
When you next go to park your arse

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