Hanging from ceiling
Transparently suspended
On strings from the wall
It is hanging there
Suspended and beautiful
The Ideal Chair
Behold your glory!
So plastic, so light in weight
Impractical--great
There is a chair in our dorm room,
But it is no ordinary chair.
Over our heads its vicissitudes loom,
Brilliant in the stagnant air.
Erecting it, we felt slightly uncouth,
For we were acting against the "norm."
But we realized what it is, in truth:
It is Plato's ideal form
Of a chair, perfection, greatness.
It is made of plastic, transparent
And of its properties I confess
The one that is most apparent
Is that when an individual stands near the window, by the bed,
And you by the chair, it appears as though a pumpkin is his head.
O chair, thou art so beautiful,
Thou polyethylene perfection of the ages,
Thou model of impractical plastic.
O, as you float there, in the centre of my room,
I doth call on you, filled with sadness
That I cannot sit in you, for you should surely
Fall defeated upon the ground, thou
Unspoilt beauty defiled...deflated.
O wonderful chair, suspended you
Inhabit my dreams. Without you I would dream
Of unholy things, demons and magpies.
O, as you drift there, shining in the sun,
A million refractions on thy shiny surface
(That would be impossible for me to replicate in art)
I wonder at the injustice, O, the torment,
Of being forever banished from your use.
O, the injustice, that acquiring the object of my desires
Would only destroy its virgin plastic purity.
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