A poem about a chair.

The chair was a light camomile,
And fat and stout,
And very matter of fact.

It did not need a man or women to sit in it.
With its two hind legs unglamorously square,
And its two front legs round and curved like acorns.

The waved armrests had no arms,
The cushion had nothing to cushion,
And it stared at you like a girl with a pearl earring.

Empty and useless,
They decided to burn the damn thing,
It was standing in the bathroom and served as a towel holder,

Damn thing, they said,
And carried it away with their shined shoes,
And took it to a big furnace,

Where it burnt.