My Mannequin

by William Doreski

Another morning of snowplows

and prismatic light. I've reclaimed

the space you used to occupy

and replaced you with a mannequin.

Orange town dump trucks gnash along

in third gear, plows lisping tons

of snow the color of paraffin.

We've never before faced so pallid

and unchristian a Christmas,

my mannequin and me. You'd laugh

to see us slurping coffee

in the violet dawn: her eyes

too brazen to reflect the gloom,

her limbs too rigid to scissor

the cup to her mouth, her grimace

keen and fixed as a cormorant's.

Now in your Manhattan apartment

your smile in the mirror suggests

the first primrose of spring,

or so you think. Actually

it suggests a custard pie

a prankster has prepared to throw

to publicly snuff an arrogance

the world is better without.

At least my mannequin needn't

distinguish guilt from innocence:

her acrylic hair glistening,

her plastic hide even tougher

than yours, and her calm as the snow

piles up to the windowsill

rich enough to foster religions

to replace the ones you've abused.

William Doreski teaches at Keene State College in New Hampshire. His latest collection of poetry is Waiting for the Angel (2009). He has published three critical studies, including Robert Lowell's Shifting Colors. His essays, poetry, and reviews have appeared in many journals, including Massachusetts Review, Notre Dame Review, The Alembic, The New England Quarterly, Harvard Review, Modern Philology, Antioch Review, and Natural Bridge.