The Tell Tale Couch

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I am not usually much of a poet but I had fun writing this! The inspiration for my poem comes from Edgar Allen Poe's "The Tell Tale Heart."

 

True! — Anxiously so.
I hope and pray you not think me so.
The mistress of the house I am,
it must be clean, spic and span!
I dust here and vacuum there,
still I see all but hair.

I used to groan, I used to moan,
but all that was said was, “Just let it alone!”
I wanted it out, I wanted it gone,
wasn’t there an agreement we could settle on?
I hope you not think me OCD.
I calmly tell you how it all came to be.

There is no doubt how the idea came to me.
Hold on! A dust mite is what I see!
There we go, much better now.
I couldn’t have ignored it, I’d have a cow!
It had festered in my mind the past few years,
I guess this is what I get for marrying an engineer.

Always sitting there, dull and faded.
The brown, green and tan colors all out dated.
The couch passed down, seed to seed.
No there was not just the one, but two no three!
My first meeting was in the house of eight,
so many parties, fun and great.

I stared at it. It stared at me.
Like it was some interviewee.
They had been in the family for years,
when I heard the stories I laughed until I had tears.
They were fun but had had their run.
They were dull and faded from the sun

You think me OCD? Hold on wait!
I like a house that is beautiful and ornate.
Please take a moment to cleanse your thoughts of me,
I was grateful you see. But no longer, it could not be!
It must have been beautiful once,
a place to sit to laugh to lunch.

As the years went by, my sweet and I
found a beautiful home that satisfied.
Still broke we brought the couches with,
the friends I had told thought it all a myth.
“Come in. Come in.” I would invite our guests.
“Please take of your shoes don't make a mess!”

I thought the couches would stay a year or so,
we let one, no wait two go.
Still the love seat remained,
why we kept it I cannot explain.
I would not let this get the best of me.
I swear! I’m not OCD!

The fabric of the old couch was ripped and tearing.
Just like a sheep was shearing.
White foam exploded from the cushions,
I knew now what was my mission.
I thought maybe a slipcover would do
Hide the old, make it seem new.

But it was always there,
just sitting by the base of the the stairs.
Then came a dog and a cat
there in the living room is where they all sat.
A scratch post for Pip,
to which the fabric became more stripped.

Trigger turned it into his bed
shedded dog hair intertwined with thread.
Together the pets contributed to further destruction
they ignored my commands, despite my instruction
There they both sat in the sun
on that couch with stories of such fun.

One year, two year, three and four.
I could not take it anymore!
As Trigger grew and grew,
I submitted that I would have to just make do.
It was his now, not mine.
Damn that cute canine!

There I would sit his head in my lap,
he had won, I no longer gave a crap.
Still the eyesore bothered me so,
shouldn’t this be its last rodeo?
Underneath 70 pounds of fit and fury,
I decided I would poll a jury.

To rid or not rid? That is the question!
But then I saw Trigger’s facial expression.
Those wonderful brown eyes, staring up at me,
so I spoke to the Ethan Allen lady
I asked, “Do you guys sell dog beds?”
What are you thinking? You’re out of your head!

Late one afternoon, I glared at it.
I got my husband to admit,
“It has been 40 years or so,” he shrugged.
“I guess it’s time for it to go.”
So I called the Hunks.
So I called Got Junk.

I told Trigger it was time to say our goodbyes.
All he did was give me snake eyes.
I’m not OCD I swore to the grown puppy!
Finally, together me and the hubby
took the sad, destroyed couch to the street
There. The love seat’s life was complete.

 

 

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