Large Fierce Mammal

The Chair

By LFM

Malcolm found a shop one day
He’d never seen before.
It sold antiques and bric-a-brac,
And dusty tomes of lore.

He went inside to look about
And as he made his rounds
He found a chair marked, “Cursed Antique”
“Reduced to 20 pounds.”

Superbly carved from pitch black wood,
It looked as though each part
Was from a trophy hunt in Hell
And crafted into art.

Thirteen forked tails wove its back,
Its four legs sat on hooves.
Its leather seat was darkly stained
And crusting filled its grooves.

Malcolm knew he had to have
This chair, accurs’d or not.
He called out to the shop keep and
He bought it on the spot.

And so it passed, the chair became
Ensconced at Malcolm’s table.
He liked its curs-ed state so much
He even framed the label.

A dozen months plus one he ate
His meals upon that seat,
And over time he sat there more and more,
Not just to eat.

I know you all are thinking that
This thing will not end well.
That Malcolm bought a chair that soon
Will send him straight to Hell.

You picture he’ll keep sitting there
Until one day the chair
Releases Hell upon his soul
And rends him thumb from hair.

To that I’d say please calm yourself,
It didn’t end that way.
Malcolm met his end, it’s true,
At breakfast one fine day.

T’is true he sat upon that chair,
And that is where he died,
T’was nothing supernatural,
It’s just – the seller lied.

No matter what the label said,
The curse was never real.
The shop keep had it there so long
He’d take most any deal.

Malcolm bought the chair and never
Knew the shop keep lied.
He never knew its glue was weak
And sparingly applied.

And so one day while Malcolm dined
Before he went to Mass,
The glue on one back leg gave out
And speared him up the ass.