A chair stands on four legs,
not two (it would topple),
not six (too heavy, too crowded).
Four: graceful and balanced.
Obedient lumber,
bearing their weight.
Mute.
Pushed, dragged, stacked.
But its comfort wasn’t enough.
Humans craved labor.
So they harnessed a horse:
a living engine steaming in the sun,
lean muscle and stentorian breaths,
groomed and geared.
Yet, its flesh grew tired,
the horse’s pain inconvenienced men.
So they built a machine:
pistons for lungs,
steel for bones,
engines for heartbeats—
a restless body with no tears.
But a mother remained:
straining on two legs,
bearing like a chair,
laboring like a horse,
loaded past capacity.
Unmaintained.
2025 WolverineLily 🌺
Wolverine Lily 