Chair
Her eyes weren’t on her feet,
they were still at her hair,
she claimed a misbeguiling air
as she rolled past in that chair,
as she sailed past in that chair.
Framed by the sharp stillness
then they were suddenly there
plumping the bubble with throat-filling care
which blew past with that chair,
then curled past with that chair.
And I swear I saw her standing
saw a firmness in her stare,
courage to show she was aware,
as she walked past in that chair,
as she walked past in that chair.
Copyright © Gavin Lockey | Year Posted 2007
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