Blaine Marchand

Chairs of Ottawa

for Amanda, who photographs and posts them

Ditched now, they linger at curbside, spattered and downcast in rain, leaves or snow, slumped and crestfallen, moody and forlorn.

This faux-leather one once held pride of place, a front-row view onto the world pixelating and dominating the far wall for passers-by to see.

This outsized one, ribs of corduroy threadbare, nestled couples settling down for their net fix, is still marked by the upset of popcorn and drink.

This swivel of aluminum legs, now bent out of shape, supported plump cheeks as a torso bent forward, laboured over spreadsheets, excel and docx.

This sleek wooden one, a silent foot soldier, bore the burden of shirts and jeans as limbs went liquid with lust and the air wheezed and wheedled with thrust and withdraw.

Each one is focused and framed, uploaded and posted, captured in the second rejection becomes dejection, like a jilted lover, a drunken uncle at a family gathering.