The Chair

by Vincent Katz

One thought
not of
chair’s stance,
position

in history’s
climb, or
seat, just
where

to plop,
not arm
of excess,
determination’s

might. Then
prisoner
in cell, in
blood

and feces,
huddled
raging on
floor.

First medicine
a chair,
prop him
upright,

consolation
in dignity
position
proper

to humanity
swiftly
excised,
blank,

symbol,
cure,
tool, and
right.