The mannequin lives a perfect and simple life.
As an empty hourglass,
she creates the ideal silhouette,
hips out and stomach in,
her breasts held up by an invisible force.
Many pay mind only to the clothes she holds.
No one whistles at her, grabs her breast, grinds against her.
It is just not done, not in public.
She stands hour after hour, month after month, year after year,
yet she never ages, she is always
frozen, ironic, as in our world “hot” she would be called.
An expressionless face stares out into the…
She knows all, watches child to adult.
They have grown,
but she remains the same
in her perfect, simple yet still life.
As an empty hourglass,
she creates the ideal silhouette,
hips out and stomach in,
her breasts held up by an invisible force.
Many pay mind only to the clothes she holds.
No one whistles at her, grabs her breast, grinds against her.
It is just not done, not in public.
She stands hour after hour, month after month, year after year,
yet she never ages, she is always
frozen, ironic, as in our world “hot” she would be called.
An expressionless face stares out into the…
She knows all, watches child to adult.
They have grown,
but she remains the same
in her perfect, simple yet still life.
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