W. B. Keckler

The Dolls

There are no idols

left in our language anymore.
Blue empty niches they occupied.

Dolls will substitute for god,
but children grow up
and whom will they talk to then?

If we had big empty Dolls
with painted faces
three times our size
lying about our furniture
in our empty apartments,

waiting all day:
Not erotic but scary
with remote-controlled loud vox.

They could scream out
any hour of the day
or night.

Whether we were there or not.

They could command sacrifices.
They could demand Love.