Couch poem

they say love is hell
maybe love is a couch
a used couch from craigslist
that’s comfy and striped
and looks good when you
buy it from geeky-man roger
and good in the back
of your rented green pick-up
but which starts looking bad
when you can’t fit it past
your apartment door.

and you find yourself
staring

at your roommate
(your partner-in-couch)
from opposite ends

of this monstrous THING.

you are stuck
and you know it
so you measure the angles
and even the windows
and you pray and you reason
until finally you face it
and call geeky-man roger
begging please take it back.

roge lets you sit
through the world’s longest silence
and at last says okay
though it’s 10:30 pm
so you do it –
you unwedge her
and drive back across town
and then haul her inside,
pallbearers, embarrassed,
leaving perfectly arranged
covers and cushions
taking your fifty bucks

from roge’s fist
and pretending that all this
never happened.

which it did,
of course,
and you go home
and sit on the floor
and stare at the doorframe
and remember how you really
almost had it.

——

The original poem, based on the same couch.

3 thoughts on “Couch poem

  1. Pingback: Love, the furniture « lindsayliveshere.org

  2. Pingback: To be blogged (is to be sad, is to be high) | Patrick Cooper: Greetings from Evanston, Ill.

  3. Pingback: On love « lindsayliveshere.org

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