Michael Coy Poet Rhyme

Infinite Regression

Imagine there’s a chair
which, in all fairness,
is a humble enough affair,
the very soul of chairness.

Imagine someone sits 
on its rafia foundation
and occupies his wits
in careful contemplation.

Suppose he picks a spot
(left leg, front, just under
the higher crossbar – what
a subject for our wonder!)

Now, here’s a teasing topic
for idle conversation:
what if a microscopic
unheard-of civilization

inhabits that position?
That pinprick could contain
a Tito, a Tesla, a Titian:
it overwhelms the brain!

But if you find that grieving,
here’s something much, much worse:
what if we’re not even
the Big Deal Universe?

In a stellar cellar somewhere,
There’s a mousetrap, hammock, keg,
and a chair within that cellar where
we’re a dot on one left leg.

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