history, the people longed
to take it easy.
The wisest
in society were the first
to notice clumps
of warm rocks, straight
trunks, a thick
dry stump, eventually
evolving the chair,
the high stool, the plump
couch, the chaise lounge,
and finally, the throne
with its baroque contortions
of polished oak and its
rare earth metals
embedded across its splat and crest—
embedded across its splat and crest—
whatever worked best
to instill reverence and congeniality,
imbuing its incumbent
with dignity and grace.
The physics came easy:
any sitter would have to concede
to a taller chair of power,
the closer to their
indentured artists' conceptions
of heaven, the better.
indentured artists' conceptions
of heaven, the better.
But that was before
the painted sky they'd been praising
began peeling and falling
in shreds from the ceiling.
The desperate populace
in the streets, all alarmist
and starving
from generations of bending and
kneeling and standing and running,
had no choice but to eat it.
Unfortunately, the lead
made them all go crazy.
After that it was the noble
who were in trouble.
Everything they excelled at—
sitting tall, keeping still,
receiving wisdom
from above, sending help,
preaching hope,
invoking love—was worse
than useless.
In this pandemic, faith
was a deadly placebo; the
only cure was doing work.
