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Poem

There it is displayed in my den, an old oaken swivel chair.
They were going to dispose of it thinking it beyond repair!
It graced the old court house for decades serving a colorful cast.
Many notions of its use crossed my mind as I mused about its past!

A judge may have used it as he sat upon the bench so just,
Dispensing justice to hapless souls at whom the book was thrust!
Perhaps a drowsy bailiff occupied it trying a yawn to suppress,
During a boring trial, praying the judge would declare a recess!

Did a juror slump in it listening to evidence with his peers,
Anxious to flee the place to enjoy a couple of beers?
Perhaps an attorney used it, evincing the usual respect,
As he leaped to his feet proclaiming, "Your Honor, I object!"

It could have been reserved to confine an arrogant desperado,
Lounging in the chair to impress with his pretense at bravado!
I suspect though, that it was put to more mundane use,
By a green eye-shaded grumpy clerk, managing to be obtuse!

The old chair squeaks a lot and if you tilt back too far, beware,
Ere it dump you on the floor, leaving your arms flailing in the air!
Though its many idiosyncrasies someday may harm my spine,
I'm glad I rescued it - its a dear old chum of mine!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)

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