The Desk

You'll never look at a desk the same way.

To whoever reads this, I'm shocked that you are,
Taking time to read my message, this deep rigid scar.
Please don't leave me mid sentence to the school bell ring,
You'll be surprised at the emotions that I, a desk can bring.

Sorry you feel that I am your prison,
That I am a torture from hell that has risen.
I'm aware you feel trapped and robotic behind my chiseled rim,
But whose the one still left behind when school lights go dim?

I was forced into marriage to a chair by a bar,
Neither of us are romantics, so our relationship never went far.
What makes our union worse is when Chair accuses me of cheating,
I ask him for proof, and he says its all over me, the names of boys  Ive been meeting

Scribbled on, scratched, my belly a cave of stalactite gum,
Daily visits by an obnoxious, adolescent bum.
I'm an etch-a-sketch which cannot be shaken, a magna-doodle which cant be erased,
A piece of school property regularly defaced.

Even though I'm not even graded, I'm forced to take summer school,
When numb jawed students sleep, a dish for their drool.
The teacher our sergeant, like marines were in rows,
Legs long and spindly like precious baby does.

No one ever asks how I'm feeling, I'm just metal topped with a wooden frame,
The sad part is I'm not the only one, you humans treat furniture all the same.
Next time you go home, stepping out the door, out of view,
Please consider reconsidering, and take me home with you.

Author's Note

My son wrote this