The Mannequins

Claire, now they make the mannequins with long legs
They give them huge buttocks and big breasts
But they leave their lips thin and their noses aquiline
They dress them up in damask and head-ties
They do not forget the fans that go with social events
But they leave them without panties and without bras

Claire, you warned me to keep my eyes straight
To watch out for oncoming traffic and rushing bikes
But the mannequins blow me kisses and whispers
They call out my name and wag their tails in my nose
When they tear off their dresses they reveal nothing hairy
Just the rotundities and the sadness in their lined eyes
Claire, now they remake the mannequins sturdy for hardship
They have removed the vibrating engines in their bellies
Though cast in plasticine, they are rendered immobile
Their huge breasts and big buttocks do not dance in the air
They stand in the open, nipples taut, come rain, come shine
Dead to the cacophony, dead to the spectacle of the streets
Claire, now they unmake the mannequins without limbs
They are shaved clean but bear manes of Indian extensions
They will not know pleasure, they will not know pain
They are frozen in the first pose they strike, their heads tilted
Claire, now they make the mannequins rather broad-hipped
They give them fat lips but sharp long noses, their eyes bright
Their lingerie is bunting on the streets on the night of carnival
They are succour for the dead, a diversion for sufferers
Claire, they remake them strapping for the lean days ahead
They unmake them with heavy breasts that give no milk
They make them with long legs and shave off the Indian hair
Claire, they won’t take the mannequins away from the streets

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Benson Eluma writes from Ibadan.