The Old Chair

And it's not like
I learned how to sit still
after ending up on my own.

Though staying in Southwest Missouri for eight years
and Kansas City for more than seven
put a dent in the problem.

It's just that in the face
of what I thought was boredom,
it seemed pretty natural
to just pack up and haul away,
mentally, physically, emotionally,
whatever.

You get where
it's just too easy
to believe downstream
smack dab in the middle of the current
is the place to be,

where the mere fact that stuff's new
and seemingly different,
is enough
to change the world.

And forget that though the old ratty
puffy chair in the living room
might get recovered
ten thousand times over

it still smells
like cat piss
and bong water
on hot summer days.