The mannequins in the shop window
whisper excitedly:
A new girl arrives today.
She was real once,
as were they.
But life,
as it had done to so many before,
had stilled her soul.
Soon the rest of her followed.
Now she lays, frozen in plastic perfection,
in the dirty storage room of the store.
She is dressed roughly,
all former privacy forgotten,
by a shopkeeper
who thought she saw,
in the dim light of that room,
a single tear in the eye of the mannequin
before she placed her in the window,
to always be displayed
but never again
truly seen.
Or to think
or feel...
a mannequin in a window.