Mannequin

She with eyes wide open stares unblinking as strangers pass her by.

Her legs are long and firm; her arms fixed ever reaching for the sky.

To the world around her, she’s a mannequin, just plastic and wire.

No one knows that she can feel; no not one can imagine her real.

Day after day out the store window she silently watches.

Sometimes she’s clothed in the finest of evening wear.

Yet more often than not, she is undraped; exposed and bare.

Sometimes she weeps, but no one can see.

For her tears fall inwardly and silent is her grief.

Someday! Oh someday I’ll break free from this shell she thinks.

Yes someday when pigs fly and mannequins truly cry.

J. Allen Wilson © 4/2008