New Furniture (after "Carnival" by Rebecca Lindenberg)

The couch shaped like a pretzel, studded
with beads of salt. The couch with holes
for your drinks and your phone. The couch
that moans when you sit on it. Stools
high enough to reach your kitchen island,
to reach your smoke detectors when
stood upon precariously. A bed for guests,
guests with which to fill a bed. Shelves
upon shelves: for books and movies,
for the special books you'll fail to find
when you look for them. Shelves
for so much ephemera, for the ghosts
of lives you always wanted to lead
but never did. Some nights you'll look
upon the shelves, alone, and wonder
what you did or didn't do to end up
like this. In the other room the couch
is moaning.

Thanks for reading! This year I'm writing poems about moving into my first house and dealing with a lot of drama and evolution in this and other parts of my life. We'll see where it goes.