The recliner
has seen better days: the fabric of its arms
worn smooth and
frayed; its seat cushion flattened, form
fitted to
the weight of lounging every day.
The headrest
is oil-stained from lengths of unkempt hair.
A stranger
or visitor to this place may indeed consider its
seasoned
state a grimy disgrace.
But salvation lies there, a resting place from exhaustive habits
performed
over the years. The old man is comforted by its
shabby form,
taken with the fragrance of its earthy bouquet.
He is drawn
to the soothing impression of a small dog curled
between his
legs, snuggled faithfully against the aching attitude
of his arthritically-worn
knees.
Chris
Hanch 1-3-16
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