I see these chairs worshiping their table:
“Gather ‘round, children”
And they must assume they’ve amassed a following
Asses on their faces
Assess the situation
Unaware the new apostles are negligent
They will grow uncomfortable
Loathe the table’s viewpoints
And they will flee

Off to a better table
One more suited to their needs
Perhaps it changes locale
It offers variety
Does not judge you for what you bring to the table

This table will not bother you
Will not fester you
You will not seek this table when you’ve nowhere to sit
And soon you’ll forget it even existed

Child, as you lay dying
Your room will fill with those you sat beside before
And if they will need a place to discuss
your future,
To conjure
for nurture
They will bring back the first table and its chairs
They will look over at you
They will offer you a seat


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