A Twenty-minute Chair

This is a twenty-minute chair.
That’s all that I can take.
Another minute more or two,
my butt will surely break.

I know they want me to move on.
They’re pushing me, I swear.
Just have your drink then take a hike;
you won’t find comfort here.

It used to be more casual,
when you could take your time.
When sitting back and chilling out
was never any crime.

But now it’s all about the buck.
They have to sell more stuff.
The price I paid to take this seat
would never be enough.

This latte Grande that I have
cost me a pretty sum.
But now my butt is killing me.
It’s starting to turn numb.

Okay, okay, I’m moving on.
I’ve had enough; I quit.
I’ll take my coffee and head out
to somewhere I can sit.

The park bench just around the block
is looking good from here.
I think tomorrow I’ll stay home
and use my own nice chair.

I’ll brew the coffee by myself.
Hey, how hard can that be?
And they can keep their painful seats.
They’ve seen the last of me.

And with the money that I save,
I’ll buy a comfy couch.
And then my butt will be content
and won’t be yelling, “OUCH!”