Bottom line, I guess,
it was all my fault.  

There were these chairs,
Adirondacks, sitting in a row
against the outside of that store
west on the State four-lane,
right under the large display window
and next to some drought-stricken,
sun-faded planters’ wilted leaves.  

Ten chairs, five colors to pick from:
Yellow, green, blue, pink, orange.  

She wanted two of the same color,
us relaxing like a cute, close couple
in our matching wooden chairs
on the white-railed porch,
smiling over the perfect lawn
and across the neatly trimmed hedge
for the passing neighbors to envy.  

I wanted different colors. My mistake.
Still, deep inside, I blame the Amish.