You offer me a bean bag,
I choose to sit on the floor.
You offer me it again,
and I refuse that thing once more.
You shrug your shoulders
and sit down in your chair.
I stare at the bean bag
and wonder why I won’t sit there.
Is it because I’d rather be seated
on hard wood than
that awkward monstrosity?
Is it because I prefer
cold lumber on my arse
than ‘bean’s trying to fight gravity?
Is it because, I wonder,
why you’d spend that much money?
When you could have a second hand chair,
this thing isn’t clever or funny.
Why do I hate bean bags so?
Why can’t I let this hatred go?
It’s just not right, it’s not a chair
But, why the fuck do I even care?
I’d not use a water bed either,
some things just shouldn’t happen
I don’t want to spring a leak
whilst I’m in the midst of napping
So, no, I’m okay thanks,
I’ll just sit on the floor.
‘Cos a bean bag ain’t a chair
and now I’ll say no more.