The Models

Music begins, and here they come toward us,

Not walking or dancing along the ramp, but making

Angular progress with no destination

But our poor eyes, which they meet in vain in passing

But wouldn't dream of meeting twice, not even

Now or again as they turn and pause, then turn

Again and pause again while they lift open

And shut the bizarre, the seemingly freely floating

And seamless openings of those smooth trappings

Someone imagined they should hold above us

And loosen lightly and fling aside from their skins

And bones, then close too soon as we gape back

And forth and up to them, trying to think

Of anything else, since they don't eat or speak

A living tongue, don't drink because their fingers

Have never gathered together into hands

Like ours and would never feel a common need

To applaud or wash themselves and because those legs

Couldn't stand still in rooms with us or bend

To allow those torsos to sit down in rows

Like us to watch their perfect counterparts

Enter the only light. Now, just as we thought,

They turn and disappear behind curtains.

CURTAINS

Grandpa took me along to the hospital