Short Upholstery Poems

Pet droppings on upholstery
Roaches (they freak me out most preposterously)
Elevators that stall out 'tween floors unexplainably
Jello, most eighties music,  bigots, irresponsibility
Insincerity fencing for popularity...

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Back at the ranch
The 'new normal' 
is a case
of Bud 
in the basement fridge
Meanwhile
A/C grinding away
TV flickering
Clumps of munchies
stuck to the upholstery
Kids glued to devices
whirring away --
Hey, Where'd Hope go?
Conversation-enders
abound...

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My favorite scent of them all by far
is that from the inside of a mint condition car.
Oh, the fragrance from that brand new upholstery!
To me, the aroma is so heavenly!
It's too bad that it's just temporary.
Yes, the smell is unfortunately not permanent.
It goes away after I make the first payment.

written March 15, 2011
...

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Just an ordinary chair
siting by the wall
rocking back and forth so slowly
yet not going anywhere at all

plain brown upholstery
with a handle on its side
and simple standard stitching
where loose change goes to hide

sagging seats and stains
and faded fabric around 
it's really a surprise 
it hasn't fallen to the ground

just an ordinary chair
is all that people see
but because of who sat there
it means so much to me...

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My first husband

Wore out the arms of his chair
Digging his elbows
Into the soft upholstery
Of our marriage.

I made bright covers with
The fabric of family life
Home, children, pets
But the damage smouldered.

I bought new chairs
To fill the empty rooms
Of divorce and loneliness
But missed the old upholstery.

My second husband
Came with a brand new suite
Cushioned with conformity
It felt comfy and safe.




....

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I've sat here and thought about muscle cars
Big beefy motors that roar and tyres smokin' hot
And when you see a movie they are the cars of the stars
When the dream sequences come they are the shot

Their colours are red and black as a matter of fact
The leather upholstery is just worn in enough to show
And these are the cars that count - that's the fact, Jack
So hitch up your trousers and know they're the go.

© Paul Warren Poetry...

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I am but a slave among lives hidden features
Who cares what I crave midst these two-legged creatures
I crave superb polish and fine furniture wax
Extremely strong wood glue and upholstery tacks
To be moved more toward the shade and less in the sun
To have a tung oil bath, ah, now that would be fun
I crave to be gently rocked and read to again
Like when grandpa was alive and Jimmy was ten 
But most of all to stay in my room at the keep
And be warmed by the fire until I fall asleep...

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