Chairs

My antique chairs have seats of cane
And they are driving me insane.
They sag, they shred, they sometimes rip,
Or sink into a butt-shaped dip.

I could replace the seats with wood
Or leather, and I know I should;
But damn – that cane, when new, looks great,
And so I do procrastinate.

Each day I sit more to the edge
And thus, uncomfortable, do pledge
That I will get them fixed before
A guest falls butt-first to the floor.

Yet guests are few, so I delay,
Though why, I really cannot say.
We often put off what we need,
But miracles aren’t guaranteed.

And so, for now, if you drop by
For coffee or some chazarai
I will not wait to hear your ouch –
We’ll sit and schmooze upon the couch.