Eyes wide but life-less,
unfocused,
she stares out the plastic window
of her sealed box house
like someone depressed,
glassy eyes watching a tv
that may or may not be turned on.
In her back is a key hole,
a mechanism to animate her
in some pseudo-human way,
to speak simple words of need,
shed tears of frustration and sadness
that she must depend on another
for what little life she has—
a toy taken out, then put away
at the whim of someone
who only wants to play, or worse,
merely place her on display.