The Chair   The chair they gave me is brutal, beyond mere punishment for my errors and crimes, my sins and trespasses, questions and quandaries — but I’ve paid for all that, done my time. No one deserves this particular chair. Sure, it seems comfortable enough, looks like something you’d like to sit on, somewhere you’d like to be, with places for your books, cupholders for cocktails. But don’t be fooled just because it’s so plush, stylish, as though it won some phony contest for fine-tooled leather upholstery, rich brocades, faux onyx inlays. Fine — you take what they give you. No one gets out of this chair alive.     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont August 2022