The Poetry of
Jack Scott

A Chair’s Chair

I do not wonder
that you’re so firm,
a chair’s chair.

No church-squirms to you
when you wait an audience
with anyone,
including your maker.

I do not love you
because you are
more a statue of yourself,
less an image of me.

I do not wait the dawn for you.
You will not be there.

I will.


298 ®Copyright 1972 Jack Scott. All rights reserved.