i know it's stupid, but i fell for a mannequin

i know it’s stupid,
but I fell for a mannequin

there was something
in the way you held yourself:

your delicate hands
on those immovable hips.

it gave you
a window impudence
that stopped my day.
it was like you looked right at me
for as long as I stood still.

you were dressed
beautifully, all the
colours of autumn.
and I thought, how much
i like a woman in russet.

there was an awkwardness,
fine fingered fumbling
as i made my move.

in the end you proved
an expensive date.

the manageress
was not keen to let you go,
standing between us
like a nineteenth century chaperone.

I took her to one side
and gave her a blank cheque,
that matched her blank
stare.

and yours,
when I told you the good news.

I don’t mind the money,
it was for charity.
which I can’t wait
to begin at home.

in the end though –
after the glow
of our limited conversation
had faded,

after you have worn
all the hair
there is to wear,

and after part of your foot
snapped off,
that time our tango got out of hand,

in the end,
even the place i go to,
between your plastic arms
will become lonely.