Sure it's frustrating when you're about to park your car in a space, only to have some joyriding septuagenarian in sunglasses and granny pants cut you off and flip you the bird before you have to start another vulture circle, but that space wasn't, technically, yours. But some nights you're out at a bar or coffeehouse, possibly with friends, and you get up to go the bathroom, and when you come back, some jerk has stolen your seat. Suddenly, you're in third grade again, and someone has planted their unwashed butt on the sticky, green, vinyl seat you were sitting in before you got up to talk to the bus driver.
Write poem to this person, describing how you do or don't want your seat back.
Bonus points if it's in a form other than free verse.