A Terzanelle By An Unhappy Desk

Prompt: Choose an inanimate object (a thing) and “animate” it (give it feelings and a life of its own) by addressing it or becoming it in a poem that is not free verse but a form of your own choosing. 2004

A Terzanelle By An Unhappy Desk

I’m cramped in the corner where it's dark, and I can't get out.

My trunk is strangely flattened, and I’m burdened down with books.

My drawers are full of anger; how I wish that I could shout!



My owner's arms are hairy, and she mars my handsome looks,

As she scratches with her pencil and sweats throughout her skin.

My trunk is strangely flattened, and I’m burdened down with books.




Her thesaurus is all bloated; her dictionary's a twin.

The computer's far too heavy, and the keyboard really stinks,

As she scratches with her pencil and sweats throughout her skin.



And why must she torment me with her multi-colored inks?

Is this a proper life for a proud, majestic oak?

The computer's far too heavy, and the keyboard really stinks,



It's even more repulsive when she lights another smoke.

She’s polluting all my fibers; she’s ashing my veneer.

Is this a proper life for a proud, majestic oak?



Yesterday she draped me with a very, old brassiere.

Smoke-filled embarrassment; It was horrid -- have no doubt.

She’s polluting all my fibers; she’s ashing my veneer.

My drawers are full of anger; how I wish that I could S H O U T!

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Disclaimer: Dear readers (especially tree lovers and desk sympathizers,)

         This poem is actually entirely fictitious. Not only do I not smoke, but my desk is, in truth, of the garage-sale, imitation-wood variety.

Humbly yours,

Shaara