We put a new cover on the futon

We put a new cover on the futon

to hide the who-knows-what’s of the

who-knows-whom's from

before us.

We stretched it and

pulled it and

made it fit.

(it ripped on one side

and we used those dry-cleaner’s

pins to hold it all in, remember?)

we

made it fit.

We put a new cover on the futon

and asked friends to lift its heavy frame,

promising this was

the last great migration – and they laughed,

and sighed (in relief;

the futon was heavy), and tucked it in,

just so,

in the new corner: beige, lifeless,

next to the blood-red

IKEA couch; funny,

nobody said they didn't

match.

We put a new cover on the futon

but old creases

sucked us in.

So we sat our bodies into

ancient grooves –

and forgot why

We put a new cover on the futon

in the first place.