Couches

Couches in front yards
mean that the lease is up
in a college town
they migrate there every fall.

For a week
their owners advertise their comfort:
drinking cheap beer and smoking cigarettes
while lounging in their old davenport.

Some are snatched up quick,
depending on the corner they're on and their condition
some could be on the lawn an hour or less
but some aren't so fortunate.

This is for the unlucky
stuck out in the rain
mildew growing in their pull-out mattress,

for the ugly and torn
on inaccessible back alleys
drooping with fall rain,

for the last one taken to the dump
collecting dead leaves
into the depths of October,

for those cushions
that will never smell right again
never have another out of town friend crash on them.

Those who are gone,
buried in landfills
or lost under a mountain of clutter
next to old cans of paint
in the back of poorly lit basements.

For years
they soaked up the PBR
wore the spilled marinara sauce with pride
hid pens, bottle openers and change so well
we forgot they even existed.

Let us not make that same mistake
with these noble embracers of ass,
for while we may have abandoned them
in favor of our Aunts reclining love seat,
nothing could replace the love they showed us
on those late nights
watching Warner TimeLife's Golden Oldies informercials.