To the Mannequins

Adorable images, Plaster of Paris Lilies of the field, You are not alive, therefore Pathos will be out of place. But I have learned A strange fact about your fate, And it is this: After you go out of fashion Beneath your many fashions, Or when your elbows and knees Have been bruised powdery white, So that you are no good to anybody— They will take away your gowns, Your sables and bathing suits, Leaving exposed before all men Your inaccessible bellies And pointless nubilities. Movers will come by night And load you all into trucks And take you away to the Camps, Where soldiers, or the State Police, Will use you as targets For small-arms practice, Leading me to inquire, Since pathos is out of place, What it is that they are practicing. November 1961