The Dress Dummy in the Shower by Anna Forsyth
The Dress Dummy in the Shower
Don't look down, she says
balanced like a dancer
on duct-taped feet
in some macabre fashion
I am comforted
by the eyelash crawling
like a tear down her cheek.
Did the dummy makeup artist
curl her lip, tempted to name her
to give her a secret
birthmark, scar or mole?
I think of her sisters
marched out in pink plastic
cloned to perfection.
I don't want to look down today.
I stare at the tiles, avoiding
the two small mounds
alien without nipples and
that other inscrutable mound
muzzled and hairless.
My cheeks burn
as the water (my conscience)
scolds me for staring
at her severed arm
my pity mixed with glee.
I watch my reflection
making clumsy dance poses
her breasts refusing
to move in formation.
I want to push her
back into the closet
so I feel less animal.
Dummy's narrow pelvis tips
in defiance.
I close my eyes there
in that steamy enclosure
I see a million Joanies
(that's her name).
Everything is fixed
they say in unison
through sealed lips.
Dummy
I whisper to the Joanies
Nothing is fixed.
Dummy
Dummy
Dummy
Executive Producers
Daniel Henson
Sarah Hunt
Sue White
