Your Old Couch From College
#4 of Poetry
Even inanimate objects have a voice
I have become the thing you think of least
when you watch each football game
yet I support you to the fullest.
I smile each time I concave under your
double rounded heart and try to hold in tears
(or what you call lint) when you leave
for the night, hoping to embrace you
after you've fought with your wife
about your "inappropriate behavior.
Your warmth becomes mine mixing with
each bourbon belch and settling in that
old beer stain you clumsily splattered on me.
I've taken your wallet several times
so I can see your changing and aging
face and steal your new cell phone
just so that you can come back to me
and search for it. My heart lies deep inside
the crannies where only the smallest crumbs
have gone before. Hoping, praying
that you will find some sort of nostalgia;
to keep you here with our memories and me.
The stains, the dirty little secrets, and the
hangovers have been scrubbed into my fibers
and will stay until you eventually throw me out.