rounded seat and back
covered in red naugahyde
fastened by tarnished gold tacks

sitting outward from the dining table
at a less than perpendicular angle
upon black and white checkerboard tiles

a series of scars mark the floor
in proximity to the chair's steel legs

some scars are deeper than others

perhaps in proportion to the patron's weight
or maybe the manner of their exit
from the dinner table
but their exits are nothing compared
to the crumbs they leave behind

tiny triangular rips
pepper the seat cover
disclosing yellow foam beneath

rips left by ballpoint pens
carelessly kept key chains
assorted attire accoutrements

one rip has been picked at
to the point it became curled
protruding like superfluous bark
exposing the tender pulp of a new ring

the chair does not just sit
but languishes like a wounded trooper
jaded from battle
yet still willing to bear
the breadth of a new blade

think on this the next time
you use an ordinary chair

think about who has sat there before
and what they have left

think about what you will leave
when you sit down