Everyone’s gone home
\noutside is dark
\nonly the mannequin’s there
\nperhaps a wee sparrow
\nperched on a barrow
\na morsal of bread he can share<\/p>\n
The lights in the street
\nkind of flicker
\nas a Westerly wind
\nstarts to blow
\nand a half eaten
\npizza rolls over a bridge
\nand drops into a street
\ndown below<\/p>\n
a burlglar alarm goes
\noff up the road
\na rat scampers over a drain
\n2 of the Mannequin’s it
\nseems their time
\nits there time to get up again.<\/p>\n
But Mannequins are made of plastic
\nor plaster
\nHow can they possibly run?
\nand where would they go to
\nif say they could
\nwouldn’t they crack up in the sun?<\/p>\n
standing in shop windows
\nday after day
\nundressed and
\ndressed
\npart of some display
\nbeing gawped at
\nby strangers who fleetingly feel
\nThey are just models
\nthey are not real<\/p>\n
M<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
whose real, who knows? Continue reading