All Eight Chairs

Every day as he left home for school,

Richard would say goodbye to all eight dining chairs.

Patting them lovingly as one does a loyal pet on their

way to an unenviable task.

On weekends, he would be sure to slide one up to the

large window. He’d say it was so they could feel the sunlight and watch the trees,

“They might be relatives?” he’d say.

Every chair had a turn. Every chair had a purpose.

Every chair felt the intentin. Every chair mattered

to Richard.

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