Sharing. Poem by Douglas McClarty

That kitchen chair was the
best in the house,
Sat between the cooker
and the stove.
On winter mornings it was always
a race to sit on that old wooden chair
Get warm by the smelly coke fire.
Arguments would break out about
who got there first.
The oldest would demand it, soon
to be ejected by Mum or Dad
They ruled whose turn it was to have
that hard old chair.
The losers went to the dining room
To draw with their fingers on the
tripled glazed windows
One layer of glass with a sheet of
frost inside and outside.
Then breakfast toast and tea
was served
A slice occasionally traded for
a seat on the chair.
Sometimes deals would be made
If I get the coke for the stove
Can I have the chair.
Sometimes it worked other times no
Depended on parent power or moods
But was always worth a try.
Summer and Spring the chair
sat lonely the stove was cold
But attention was turned to the
one seat garden swing
It was easier to share
Pushers and swingers would
each take there turn.