I know I am a deck chair,
Stick limbs and lacking substance.
A brightly striped canvas flapping in the breeze.
It only, really has a function by the sea or in a garden.
It can be retro, or funky or rough.
But not inclined to comfort.
Unless all is at ease:
- The sun must be out.
- You must be near the sea or at least hear water running.
- A faint tang of sun cream and BBQ on the air.
No fun in the rain,
No fun indoors.
Madly desirable in the right place, for sale or bookable at peeks in the year.
But mostly just gaudy and mass produced,
Moth-eaten and mouldy at best.
Currently fashionably over taken,
By tubular steel and nylon.
Lightweight, streamlined and showerproof.
Me I’m clunky and with
Miss-assembly I could cause injury
Or defeat. ( and in extreme cases -death )
Beware of woodworm and canvas rot.
Or’ll you’ll be in
The mist of your moment
And you’ll hear a faint tear…..
Then a rip like a roar
And you’ll land arse on the floor!