to see which was his
favored chair.
the rumpled one
by the window,
by the light, with the little
stand to hold
books
and cups,
an ashtray and his lighter.
the remote.
the cushions
are still curved
by the shape of his
weight,
his legs and arms.
his head leaning back
on a small pillow.
i resist sitting down in it,
before carrying
it to the curb,
his throne.
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