I would have an adoption shelter for discarded furniture.

There's an old, saggy brown couch on the side of route 78.
It's not very remarkable, you certainly wouldn't use it as a metaphor.
It's been there for months, just getting all gross.
No one seems to be very interested in taking it away
and it's becoming a landmark on my drive to class.

I like that brown sofa.
It reminds me of a abandoned puppy, which consequently makes me tear up.
I wonder what it did to be put out the way it was.

Did it get infested with fleas? Or did a spring break and stab it's owner?
Was it simply too dingy or maybe a newer pup came along?

Don't you get scared the same will happen to you?
That you'll pick up a bad habit, offend someone, or grow dull?
That you'll outgrow your usefulness and interest?
What if we could be discarded as easily as a saggy, brown couch?

Oh, no.
I did it.
Not only have I made that couch into an analogy,
but I've created a sympathetic bond with it.