His Chair

I can’t sit there,
In that sad and broken-down chair.
It still sits in the corner
Even the cat stays away.

In years past,
My beloved sat there
With the cat on his lap
They would both snore.

Its surface is rough
In places it is worn
It smells of Old Spice
And his occasional cigar.

I can’t sit there
It was his chair
I can’t even move it
Let alone kick it to the curb.

It was his chair
And as long as I keep it
Over there
He will always be here.