A Couh Along The Wayside

I’m tired
My feet are raw and swollen,
but I am fortunate to find
a discarded couch
along the wayside—
a momentary respite

It is a sign of good luck,
the sofa by the curb,
to take a comfortable nap
on its old, worn upholstery

Stained on both arms,
a wobbly right leg,
bulging at the seams—
but the sofa suits my needs,
contains hope for me

It wears the dreams
of strangers who rested here—
made love on its soft cushions,
talked about private things
into the wee hours of the night

It is a godsend for a wayward traveler—
a faded piece of furniture,
a momentary pleasure,
unexpected joy

For I am poor and deprived
In such common treasures,
I find much pleasure.