Was it friction or frottage? You look Velveteen.
Like that storied Rabbit, you're worn to a sheen.
But you're rather TOO real, and you're (shiver) unclean.
Can a mind comprehend all the germs, crumbs, and menaces
Covertly ensconced in your folds, nooks, and crevices?
And do they send unpleasant olfactory messages?
O Sofa! You poor whore, age one hundred-three.
Those who wreaked havoc on you still roam free,
Yet you endure, stolid, with puce dignity.