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Poem	This hideous, upholstered in gift-wrap fabric, chromed in places, design possibility for the future canned ham. Its genius wonderful, circa I993. I've assumed a great many things: the perversity of choices, affairs I did or did not have. But let the record show that I was happy. O let the hideous chair stand! For the Chinese apothecary with his roots and fluids; for Paoul at the bank; for the young woman in Bailey's Drug, expert on henna; and Warren Beatty, tough, sleek stray. For Fluff and Flo, drunk at noon, and the Am Vets lady reading her Vogue, the cholos on the corner where the 57 bus comes by, for their gratifying, cool appraisal and courtly manner when I pass. Let the seat be comfortable but let the chair be hideous and stand against the correct, hygienic, completely proper subdued in taxidermied elegance. Let me have in any future some hideous thing to love, here Boston, MA, 8 Farrington Ave.
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