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Old Armchair

By
That Old Armchair
Yeah, that one.
See how it sags,
from where you sat?
Ain’t it beautiful?
That purple.
Unlike no other.
Those memories, daughter in fathers lap.
Uncle playing guitar, voice whispering song secrets
that I’m not aloud to tell.
Mother, knitting son wool sweater.
He hated it, but he wore it anyway.
That Old Armchair.
Ain’t it beautiful?





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