Heavens Lawn Chairs

grey and worn the lawn chair has dead leaves stuck to it its one bent arm an expression of pained indifference mud clings to its feet and a single vine like a thin snake wraps its way across its frame seeking the sun i pull at it to set the chair right to seat myself and suck at the breeze from the open field marvel that a cow stands not five feet away silently watching my every move with a wary eye lunching on the grass and weed but the chair now uprooted from its long held position seems more than ever a proclamation of mans intent to be seated here on heavens lawn clear illustration of the intent that you are supposed to take this bent greasy seat sit at your leasuire in the bountiful sunshine it is one of a dozen in the field in this beautiful slice of heaven the lawn chairs litter the field like broken teeth set in a line that wanders across the wilderness growth each having suffered from years standing in the open field two almost completely consumed by bushes one had been tossed into the tree where time had swallowed it into the bark this broken and brutalized fence of chairs these lawn chairs of heaven's field sit in this beautiful place some would say eyesore i say artwork of life's randomness... what party of fools once sat here dressed no doubt for the occasion perhaps celebrating perhaps mourning then got up from these plastic seats and left them behind as testament to that forgotten day... so i sit in heavens lawn chair a mute salutation to my unknown compatriots who painted this pastoral scene of plastic in a field