Ode to the Orange Chair

Ok, I need to take a break from grading papers or either I will go crazy or my students will start failing their papers. Today I had my students write odes after reading Pablo Neruda's "Ode to My Socks." They chose an object in the room that they could see. We heard odes about shorts, pencils, the American flag, the magnetic white board eraser...and I even read one about a blade. I'm hoping that that student missed that part about being able to see it in the classroom. I really hope he didn't have a blade on him. Some were very humorous. Some were serious. In my attempt to be a "good" teacher, I wrote an ode of my own. Unfortunately, it probably won't make sense unless you've ever had the pleasure of sitting in the orange chair or watching someone else sit in it and almost fall out of it.

"Ode to the Orange Chair"

As I sit its joints
creak
like the joints
of an arthritic, knitting
grandma,
its wheels groan
as they roll roughly
toward the table.
As I lean back to relax
its slippery hinges
allow a
life-threatening recline,
its back
supports my back
like a massage
after a long day's work.
My feet dangle
as if I were on
the edge of a
swimming pool
enjoying the rays
of summer,
feeling the warmth
and joy of a
free, June afternoon.
Even the fabric is rough
like the pool's cement.
Who can deny
this strange
orange chair's
magic?