the smedley log - suburban scrawl

randomuse

Peering
at half-headed mannequins
on Chestnut Street
elicits a fleeting sympathy.

They’re ghosts
or leftover sensations
or memories
recalling a feeling incomplete.

(Images courtesy of Marisa)

It occurs to me that not everybody has seen a “half-headed” mannequin. Prior to last night, neither had I. (And now I wish I’d taken a picture for those who have no idea what one looks like.) Maybe I just don’t get out enough, but they struck me as a combination of amusing and morbid.

When I made an off-hand comment that I could write a poem about them, I didn’t actually intend to do so. But in the wee hours before I could fall asleep, those melancholy window dwellers came back to me. Go figure.

(Note: A belated bit of gratitude to Marisa for hearing my passive/aggressive plea for photos.)

I suppose the half-head look is supposed to get us to look at the clothing?

It reminds me of the way advertisers see us – Eyes, ears, nose and a mouth. If we think too much, we are liable to stop consuming so much.

Excellent point. But if that was their intent, it wasn’t working on me. Until I saw these photos, I wasn’t even cognizant of the clothes they were trying to sell.