Decaying beach chair with broken bands
Purpose forgotten, never touched sand
Meant for joy, now left out front
Not meant to endure neglect so blunt
Yellowed and rusted, layers of stains
Watered now by delicate rains
Housing spiders in plastic joints
From the weed-ruled space it appoints
Throne of rot, immune to theft
One day there will be nothing left
Such ugly scenery for passers-by
May leave their minds asking
Why?
Why?
Why?

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Author's Note: The original version of this poem was written sometime between 2014-2015. I lost the initial draft. Starting on July 10th, 2025, I recreated some lines from memory and improved upon the concept. My fictional chair has not been forgotten. Real ones have.


By Adaline Guerra