i am a chair.

your boring poems offend me
just as your boring life offends me
i don’t pretend my life isn’t often times
boring or predictable or hellishly tedious 
(i type this poem in a starbucks cafe
in a barnes and noble on my phone)

so as i was saying
before i rudely interrupted myself
(there’s a woman in here
staring at the christmas chocolates
but her eyes scroll across the boxes
like spiders away from a human hand)

so yes
your boring poems bore me 
they read like hallmark cards
and there is nothing worse
than hallmark cards
to substitute a synthetic heart
into the guts of a card

i can’t stand haiku
(but admit i’ve written them)
but they tend to be

boring

rushing water is overrated
unless you can smell its salt
and hear its thunder 
and feel its biting cold
and see its eternity
eternalness?
eternality.

(a woman in a peacoat
just ordered a caramel macchiato
(i guessed she was wearing a peacoat
before i looked up))

i think this poem is to me
i think my poems bore me
should i spice up my marriage
to poetry?
purchase a copy of the kama sutra
for me and poetry
from this suburban barnes and
noble?

should i jump off a cliff?
should i shave off my eyebrows?

(ghostwriters are worse than
hallmark
except maybe when they’re 
not)

this poem is dying 
a woman reading danielle steele
just yawned

a woman behind the register 
with resting bitch face
is gesturing authoritatively
a man has been wandering for
approximately 45 minutes 
and still has acquired nothing
i am that man
i have been writing this poem
for approximately 26 years
and i have acquired nothing

i am a chair
in the starbucks cafe
at barnes and noble
in suburban c o
there is a Red Robin
and a Ruby Tuesday 
across the street
it is december 22nd
and everyone in here 
is secretly a robot 
and their poems bore me

(oh.
except for me.
i am not a robot.
i am a chair.)

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

READ “TURN GREEN”

Author: brice maiurro

Denver poet. Author of Stupid Flowers, out now through Punch Drunk Press.

5 thoughts on “i am a chair.”

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