Another Creepy Pygmalion Dream

 

Suddenly she could talk.
In the dark cabin
on the pine scented street
all around us were teenage boys in cars.
Something--a party?--
had just broken up,
and the boys were gunning down the street
in cars painted with flames and Tasmanian devils.

 

 
In those cars real girls with small teeth
were laughing in the close heat, slipping on the vinyl,
laughing in the dark dark slipping,
as the boys made hair pin turns
down by the necessary cemetery.

 

 
She was in my arms,
lets call her Heather,
face smooth
in the ambient street light.
Her hair was an auburn curtain,
the part was perfect.
Like a giant figurine
in an art store window
her arms and legs were made of wood
but with articulated hands and feet
and her mouth was mobile.

 

 
She smiled a little sadly
being the embodiment of all
I desired.
As I tried to hold her
up to dance
her head hung back
heavy as an oak burl or cobble stone,
that pregnant curve where her brain would be.

 

 
You're perfect I said,
and even she, so new to the world,
knew enough to smirk.
A sense of irony was hard-wired in,
but why wasn't she afraid
of the boys coming up the street?

 

 
I told her to be still--
and she smiled again,
knowing exactly what to do.

 

Artwork:Tracey Anderson / Collaborative Statements