The New Sofa

Not quite as comfortable as the last sofa.  

I have changed, too, not quite as soft as the last couch

which shed the dandruff of flaking faux leather.

Bones protrude and joints creak.

The dog is still there, black, invisible except for the 

devil ears which cast a shadow.

I noticed that half of the floor was worn by

years of shuffling of small feet, the other half

shiny, protected by the old sofa that cradled

us as we traveled this road called life.