Oh couch

It takes me

I love this couch - 
ugly,
long enough,
it fits me.
People with kids need
couches like this one
for naps
during cartoon hour
and dogs
need couches like this.
And blankets
like to gather here,
the fleece, the ancient knitted.
It can be crowded
when something good
is on the telly or on the hearth,
it can be
orange
when something pumpkin-
like is lit and glowing
near the far end,
but it can't be angry.
This couch
can't make its pillows hard
or fold its arms
against us.
It's the thankful couch
and it takes me
lazy, fat, or drunk,
in tears or wrestling
for the perfect spot.
It takes me
and we wear plaid together,
share the smell of paraffin
and patchouli oil.
Oh couch of couches,
mud coloured, dog
haired, coin
thief, remote
concealor, 
all things end
with couch and I.

These last few poems are from a little book I published years ago titled The Night Before Snow. Nothing new but some of them I still adore.