Mannequin

by Chris Butler

I am the fake plastic man,
the stone statue standing in vogue poses,
staring down the envious,
standing around indifferent.
I am decorated in the highest fashion dressings,
and some days I’m left naked
with a figure of zero percent body fat and six pack abs
carved out of synthetic granite.
I watch the zombie shoppers
shamble through the aisles,
consuming the flesh of polyester fibers.  
They all want to look like me
because I am the fake plastic man.