Shop of Humans

A short poem on the nature of humans and the impossibility of immortality.

I was gliding down the escalator

one Sunday afternoon

when the sun dribbled in through the ceiling

and burnt the plastic models

wearing non existent sizes

on their perfect, opaque bodies.

I was watching a man and woman

fall in love

on the step before me,

dead hair sprouting from their scalps

scalded with chemicals and harsh twigs

combed through each strand.

I thought; ‘how could someone love something like that?’

Something dying with each struggling breath,

something eating and pissing and shitting

(and still traversing the earth).

I reached up and pulled at the rags

warming my mind

aiding the generation of dark thoughts

but distracting the inevitable death.

The mannequins laughed at me

plastic teeth and plastic tongues waving,

shooting venom through their noses;

the venom of eternal life.