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The White Chair

The Dollar is up and the TSX is down,
in this busy day northern town,
I walk my ravine route, quiet as a mute,
brook background on,
listening, a bird song.

Across the path it sat,
with white vinyl straps,
I sat upon it's lap.
A white outdoor chair,
under the pines, without a care.

Where it came from nobody knew?
it just appeared right, right out of the blue.
It sat under tall, towering pines,
passing people, passing times.
We sat there together,
in all kinds of weather.

On lazy days on Magpie Hill,
watching my dog going for the kill.
On sunny days with blowing winds,
to be at work would be a sin.
We listened to a birdsong minuet,
beautiful songs, never heard yet.

I wondered about it's history,
one of travel, one of mystery.
I wondered where it had been,
in and out of the creek, again and again.

I wondered about it's owner.
Maybe a travelling loner,
maybe a writer,
on a drunken all-nighter.
or a recovering alcoholic,
out on a frolic.

We reflected on our days,
young and foolish, some a haze.
We over times passed by,
cherished memories, gone with a sigh.

I roared over it's strap malfunction,
out of place, at the junction.
Funny a chair, my welcome friend,
I must admit, it felt good on my rear end.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
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Last few words: 
Yes there really was a white chair I found on one of my many daily dog walks in Millcreek Ravine, Edmonton, Alberta. I watched it travel around the ravine for a good month before it dissapeared and was not "sat in" again. It is the focus of my first self-published chapbooks. I do have a painting of it on Instagram under my #trekkerdekker.
Editing stage: 
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