The Chair

A guy who builds a nice chair doesn't owe money to everyone who has ever built a chair.

As soon as my feet hit the ground, I’m taking off as hard as my poor old feet can bare.

The chair is warm and it's playful and inviting and it needs to say, "Hello!"

It takes it time to stop and ask itself “What Do Kids Know?”

Don't fish eat other fish? The marlins and the trout!

Why can’t anyone tell me what that’s all about?

Who's the more foolish, the fool or the fool who follows him?

For the first time in their lives, things didn't go exactly the way they were supposed to for them.

I’m hearing now you can be decent and gifted at the same time.

My knit fingers click with a fitbit now sittin’ on a rhyme.

Fugazi, Fugazi. It's a wazy. It's a woozie. It's fairy dust. It’s about...

Tick tock. Tick tock. That’s the sound of your life running out.

This poem is about: 
My family
My community
My country
Our world


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