Mannequins in the shop front window,
The new years batch take their seats,
Lined up on display, unknowingly.

Between words you lick your lips - quivering
Under your brow, behind your eyes,
******* each body in the back of your mind.

Little lambs to the slaughter,
So meek and so mild.
Just as your precious Herbert
Speaks of his young bride.

She asks,
      how can you be happy
      living in this
      no bedroom *******
      that somehow gets smaller
      with every sigh?
      We weren’t supposed
      to be these people,
      happily moving hot air
      from one place to the next.

We are like mannequins now
      every aching minute together
same faces and no new words.

Oh, those store mannequins
with their pretty, empty heads
and unending, plastic smiles,
are forever standing, never dead

on their small, well-heeled feet.
As prime examples of fortitude,
they’re ready to make a sale…
at your expense; smug attitudes

can be imagined, as they strike
poses with ease and flexibility.
Do they mirror us, as placeholders
in Life? Having potential energy,
.
they remain lifeless in display Hell;
what things about us, do they tell?
.
.
.
Author Notes

Inspired by:
Store dummies and Prov 16:28; Matt 7:1-5

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
Amazon (dot) com

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.