What Am I

I'm squirming in my chair of oak with narrow arms, and folks lined up in two long rows of growing thirst and hunger for a breath of air Like sardines in a can of worms we are strange, unlikely shipmates torn between one salesman's limped plea -- the other shark who disagrees Gray flannel suit, the stiff white shirt with slicked down hair, accusing words persuading few with his hot air The black suit spews his declaration a quite contrary explanation Until my mind is torn in two and in a room we must decide Confined inside, a dozen votes where six say yay, six more say nope We're hanging by a thread for days and rumor spreads, with dreadful words He has finally coped with deadlocked folks But sternly looks a bit provoked We sit there like a row of stones of wounded souls. We are excused! We grope for keys, and leave our thrones And as I'm walking out the door No longer needed any more I see the face of one accused Then count the blessings in my life and take a breath of freedom's air So glad to know some welcome arms are waiting there, at home _____________________________________________ "Person"