Talking To A Coat Rack

Who ever thought you were a good idea?
Or thought of you at all.
You've too many arms, too thin a frame,
and legs that are too short to move at all

You hold my hats and coats and all,
but such a job to do is small.
Taller height than mine, you work just fine.
But talks with you are a waste of time.
But then,

If I did my job half as well as thine,
then I'd live a life so sublime.
But then what purpose now and here is mine?
What shields to warmth and roofs from sun,
can I uphold. my job when done.

What purpose great, so grand so bold.
Am I of worth or from broken a mold.
What jobs I do are only those I'm told.
A telos life yet to unfold.

My purpse will remain to stand here,
waiting for a hand on mine, to take me someplace, somewhere,
sometime.
There is a task out there that's mine.
I'll find it, and then
my fate will shine.