I sleep on a storefront shelf
Near a cellophane display
Where lines of plastic people stand
A phosphorescent sun ascends,
Beyond the Plexiglas
Pulled by its mechanical crank
In illuminating, dusty rays
Awakened by the blaring sound,
Of the TV’s near the checkout line
I hear the anchor man
Pledge in dreary drones
Allegiance to his land
Of synthetic delight
From my Styrofoam casing
I watch an aisle paved,
With scuff-marked stones
And ceramic tile stains
Today,
A silicon girl with a polymer man,
Stroll down the lane
Hand in hand
She complains:
“I can’t find who I am today,
So I guess I’ll be someone else awhile
With artificial flavoring
And latex in my smile”
My see-through walls
Turn foggy white
From biting breaths, enraged
If only she could see the way
I see from my stage
Then maybe that latex grin
Would fade
Beyond the glass
The sun dims a sulfur rust
The street lights hum and buzz
But no surprise, my sleep evades
My head droops against the case:
I hate this thing
I’m made to be,
But if not this
What thing is “me”?
I ponder now,
Give in tonight?
Turn cold and stone and
Latex-like
As I lay on my shelf
In the plastic night.
