Couch on the Street
Photo by Eudes cs from Pexels.
I drive past a broken-down
leather couch on the side
of a pothole-riddled street.
The garage sale sign is further up,
like the couch somehow didn’t
deserve to be seen with everything else.
Or perhaps the couch was
special
A $30 relic from when times were
better
I look through my side-view mirror.
There are layers of worn patches,
repairing the holes dug by countless
memories.
The last proof of a world when
Grandpa would sit on the couch,
and Grandma would knit right next to them.
One talking to the soul, one mending the jeans,
and the couch remembered it all.
And the claw marks that cover the sides—
none of which touch the top.
I wonder if the paw that left them still lives,
if it misses where it used to sleep.
Tossed out on the street,
for $30,
I pull over and stop
and turn around.
I lowball them for $10.
And sell it off to my neighbor for $20.
Too much feeling isn’t good for this world.
