chair poem (steve martin I)
written on the back page of the pleasure
of my company by steve martin (hyperion,
2003)
restaurant chairs sit
too many asses in their lifetimes
(I’m writing this tipsy)
they witness everything
from anal to heartbreak
with eyes wide open, lashes
crushed with the
weight of a human;
tattoos received too soon
and the handprint of those
who abandon.
they must cringe at my words,
written while suffocating one
underneath my own rear
end. already
tired of getting kicked always + blamed
for it —
they don’t need existentialism
if it won’t help them
get through the day
and they don’t get paid
enough to not crack
under pressure when
faced with it,
worry about tomorrow,
get drunk.
they need things that
are hard for a chair to ask for
never have, always wanted (steve martin II)
written on the front page of the pleasure
of my company by steve martin (hyperion, 2003)
I never have,
always wanted to,
realized piercing your ears isn’t
necessarily the coolest thing you can do
to prove to the worthless
that you can exist in the same
layer of hell as them
never have,
always wanted
to lose money on something valuable,
buy shoes I grow out of for $500
feel the joy
of doing something stupid
that’s only stupid to you
always have,
never wanted to feel
anything at all especially when in
the company of strangers —
wanted to stomp on balls
with kitty cat feet
and watch eyes push themselves
into someone’s skull
always never
wanted to have
(insert object here), of material or
soul quality
want: to climb tree, only after
asking it first
Claire Marie Anderson is a writer, art and film historian, and overall bohemienne from Houston. Her poems have appeared in BarBar Literary Magazine, Alchemy, Unfortunately, Literary Magazine (Best of the Net nomination), and The Decadent Review, among other publications. She is the former Managing Editor of Landing Zone Magazine, and is currently at work on a debut poetry collection.
