It's Still Life

Chairs

Our chairs are wooden, straight-back and Puritan.
There’s godliness in discomfort,        or so I’m told.

And to think that chair came from deep forest green.
Its nose in the clouds, feet deep as a biblical read.

I dust off its rungs once in a while, when I remember.
Is that sloth or is it laziness — I know it’s  not greed.

He rocks on it, his chair; it has a slight feeble wobble.
I never do, so mine is as steady as a tortoise in June.

I am my mother’s daughter, she’s a woman who knows best.
I know she’d say, Stop bloody rocking on your Puritan chair!

Written for Miz Quickly’s Day 3: A-Not-Ghazal