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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book... “Path of Least Resistance” Down in the Dirt (v131) (the September 2015 Issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:

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Daddy’s Chair

Chad Newbill

The tattered brown chair
sat on the right side of the living room.
Slightly angled; as if it were
a lighthouse surveying the traffic.
The pillows were tired and matted down.
A worn afghan, that great grandmother had made,
tried to cover the war scars of
splashed whiskey, cigar smoke and rough play.
It was the patriarch
of our unpretentious castle.
Daddy would spend many hours
in that brown saddle.

In the morning,
dad could be found sitting in the chair,
dropping ice cubes into his coffee
to ease the scalding.
He would sit and watch
the morning’s weather forecast,
or read if he was feeling particularly energetic.
He sat.
I loved his monotony.

After dinner,
he would be the first one to
leave the table.
He sat in the brown chair
and smoked his desert cigar.
I liked the smell.
I liked the flow of the smoke.
It all seemed so sophisticated and academic.
A coffee mug of Jack Daniels always followed.


He drank it slowly
and gently ran his finger tips across the rim between sips.
He sat.
I loved his monotony.

He would pick up his black framed glasses from the end table to read.
He hated his glasses.
He had the idea that glasses only weakened his eyes and not wearing them was good exercise for them.
Besides- he thought they made him look old.
I thought he looked distinguished.
His reading selections were very eclectic;
Philosophy, poetry, old text books and even the dictionary. He especially loved biographies.
He would read and read until his glasses were dangling from the end of his nose.
He sat.
I loved his monotony.

One Tuesday after school, I skipped home, celebrating the fact that I had no homework.
I walked into the house and
the air was different.
I didn’t hear the usually sounds, or smell the usual smells. I walked through the living room and noticed mom had rearranged the furniture in the living room.
After much scrutiny, I realized my daddy’s brown chair was gone.
Instantly, our castle became an empty cave.
The whole house looked gray and dark.
My heart sank and my stomach hurt.
The living, breathing fixture was gone- gone for good.
He left.
I miss our monotony.

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