I bought a second-hand chair
for mornings when standing
was a separate task
from brushing my teeth.

In the bathroom, it rocked.

I wedged a folded receipt
beneath one foot,
then another.

I turned it upside down
and measured the legs.

Four equal lengths.

I measured again.

There must be a loose joint.
Something swollen.
Something I could sand.

I had wanted something
in that room
to be repairable.

On Saturday, I moved the chair
into the hallway
to mop beneath it.

All four feet met the floor.

I sat down
with the damp cloth
still in my hand.

Then carried it back
and watched the gap return
beneath the same foot.

The receipt went back under it.

I crossed out broken
on the note I had made
for the repair shop.

Wrote:

Wobbles here

O Quiet (they/them) is a queer Scottish poet writing about chronic illness, mental health, identity, belonging, and hope. Their work draws on lived experience, overheard conversations, and ordinary objects: receipts, chairs, pill boxes, and the stories attached to them. They are interested in how a small detail can unsettle an assumption or change the direction of a poem.