my couch likes double pointed needles.
it’s old, long, and made of dark fake leather.
the 3 cushions seem to sit at just the right angle
so that when i set a dpn there for a single moment,
it rolls merrily down the slope
slipping easily between the slick piping
and the dark crevice up against the armrest,
which has become my own personal bermuda triangle.
i refuse to count any longer
how many minutes i spend per project
recovering dpns from that chasm, it’s too embarrassing.
the last time i set a dpn down
(only long enough to make toast)
my post-snack search came up empty.
i removed all three cushions, groped around
and came up with this sorry lot:
(one blue, one green),
a solitary rice chex,
12″ of burly spun
in lotus pink, &
a partial chip;
none of which
got me even one stitch
closer to finishing the brass colored
cabled vest i am so wanting to wear now
that the early march wind is warming things up.
refusing to return my needle is a change in strategy for the couch
which has long been satisfied with quietly smirking at me
as i stick my tentative fingers into the mire
of collected un-miss-able things
that it usually hoards.
it was only when i gave up
with loud exasperated sighing
and collapsed, face first onto the carpet
physically admitting full defeat to my nemesis,
that i came eye to eye with the dpn at last.
it sat perched peacefully atop
a large grey dust bunny
beside the couch.
the physics of how
it could ever have landed there
are beyond my rusty science skills, but
i am sure, despite its innocent appearance,
that the couch was the mastermind behind it all.
i just can’t quite prove it, yet…