at night
the mannequins leave
their glass prisons
and hunt owls
in the forest
***
sometimes they dance
a slo-mo tarantella
in a clearing
bone-white
in the moonlight
***
in the morning
back behind glass
their blank looks
give nothing away
behind them
tills open with a yawn
and close with a sigh
***
This poem was constructed from several tweets on the theme of mannequins. I tweeted the picture (very much a part of the poem) about a week ago.
I’ve got quite a lot of material on this theme. Further poems are planned, as well as a collaboration with an artist.