Red Chair

His most illuminating thoughts spring to life
from the red chair, the one there
in the corner under the rather
unremarkable metal floor lamp.

The green chair would be out
of the question.  It lacks the
capacity to produce creative
imagination.  Only the red chair
can prompt the pen to pristine
white paper, inspire adverbs to
amazing heights, or construct a
lovely poem for his wife on the
occasion of their anniversary.

The red chair is a mystical 
haven in which his brain flies
free to think and create in
flowing prose or melodic
poetry.

Some suggest the red chair's
unnatural nature is related to the
luxuriously thick sitting cushion,
or the hefty padded arms like
Aunt Clara's when he visits her on
Saturday mornings. It does not,
however, cast its spell on everyone.
A neighbor sat in the red chair
for an hour yesterday and never
had an important thought, not one,
much less a creative insight.  Although 
one would not expect that of him.

Apparently the magic seeped slowly
into the joints and sinews of the
red chair from the unconventional life
of a local resident, a woman who
acquired it in India many years ago
but recently relegated it to the
curb for a final pilgrimage to the
county dump.

Rescued and resuscitated, the
red chair occupies the creative
center of his universe, for which he
and it are grateful.  When he sank
into the soft cushions this morning
the red chair gave him a warm hug
and whispered, "I've got some words
for you."