My new couch / Poem: My new couch, Anne Boleyn, wife of King Henry the Eighth

New couch purchased from Holy Redeemer Thrift Shop, County Line Road, Hatboto, PA. Twenty-five percent off on Mondays if you're a senior citizen or military personnel. I paid $231 for the couch plus $80 delivery fee, plus I tipped the guys $20. I went around to my neighbors to ask if anyone had two tens for a twenty but no one did. I'm a nice mixture of generosity and frugality. Actually, I'm cheap as hell.

Now before I print the poem you've all been waiting for, lemme tell you about its title. I watch videos of recent Charlie Rose Shows. One show featured the Metropolitan Opera Co. of NY: its manager Peter Gelb and two star performers from the Met's debut of Donizetti's Anna Bolena, Italian for Anne Boleyn, ill-fated second wife of King Henry the Eighth.

Charlie Rose, master interrupter, is very smart, and it's fun to see how he shows off before his guests, in this case, how much he knows about opera.

MY COUCH, ANNE BOLEYN, WIFE OF KING HENRY THE EIGHTH

You would think by my sorrow
a couch has a soul
it sits on the curb,
cushions askew,
I watch in the clear light
of autumn
It adjust to its new
curbside home.

At dusk
it casts its shadow
in the center of the road
cars run over it
schoolchildren gaze
from the bus.

Go in peace, I tell the couch,
glad for the cover of darkness
and wait for the rising moon
to honor its departure with
a blessing of cold
mysterious light.

Like a divorce
there is no one reason.
The tipping point
had me shopping around
a bright floral affair
with fluffy fringed pillows
captured me
when it moved in with me, though,
I hadn't suspected its smell
of cheap perfume.

Of course I regret it
my pinstriped couch of
a thousand days
of grays and whites
so subtle it brings out the best
in each sitter
highlighting their mortal forms:
faces endless
legs crossed and uncrossed
beneath my montage of Barcelona

Thursday comes
the garbage truck will haul it
to the landfill
where it will delight the other
outcasts with its uncomplaining
serenity, the ever-regal darling
I gave away.

All that's here now -
my house, the trees, my couch
on the curb -
began with the Big Bang.

As I fall asleep, I see us all
flying up in the air -
a juggler's trick -
one moment that lasted
a billion years
my couch doing somersaults
at the joy of having been born.

*

Feel free to give your comments about the poem. I become obsessed when I write a poem. I keep printing it out, looking at it, and changing things. I did sit on my new couch when I was revising it. The new couch is super-comfy plus it has velcro strips beneath the cushions so they won't fall off like the cushions on the old couch did.

All's I found in the old couch were about a dozen pens. I'd guesstimate (don't you love that word?) I have about 45 in my living room office.