She stares unseeing at the sun,an empty wineglass
forgotten in her hand,
paste diamonds glistening in the light.
Her hair, her chair, her gown
all relics of a bygone age
which doesn't seem that long ago to me.
And are there women still,
whose lives appear so empty,
who live to tan and drink and dress,
spend hours on their hair and face
and when the light begins to fade
never wonder where the day has gone
but rise instead and fold the chair,
hanging it carefully in its accustomed place,
rinse the glass
and place it in the dishwasher,
then freshening their lipstick,
step into red corvettes and drive
to meet their husbands at the train?
* * *
2 comments:
Perfectly titled words!
Unfortunately, as well all know, there are a few too many still.
You'll have to tell me the story behind the mannequin, if there is one. It's eery, like the real Stepford wives.
I'm with Maureen -- too many still. But the mannequin is precious! Too real, yet too unreal to be real.
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