Couches Are Easy To Pick Poem by Anish Cherian

He knows that it has to be carried out soon,
the urgency of the matter he could not stress more.
Today he had to go pick his new couch.
When his brother called yesterday,
and his mother did and dad and his girl and then this girl.
He knew the next day was the last one he would wait.

One that sits across the room now
stares back and he goes on
to pick a shirt he would not wear else.
The floral pattern buzzes in his head
with no particular memory ringing along.
Across the room it sat and pulled him into its covers.
The floral pattern go well indeed,
he had said while picking years back.

The way down the building was met with
his neighbours who knew what he was out to get.
A pat on the back, a nod of agreement passed closely along.
The flight went down a few till he was back on his breath.
He overwhelmed himself looking back.

Walk to the store seemed trivial and that
escaped his mind during self recital.
But he set the couches, sofas and the patio recliners
around him, all put there for him to choose.
He was told to sit down and choose,
the one that feels right on his bum.
But at sight that's how they all seemed and so he picked
one at random.

The new couch sits across the room, a week from then.
Floral patterns goes well with the other and he sighs
a motion to sleep.
He lies down on them with the ceiling in view and he's
content the phone will not ring.