The Wax Museum

What noisy hullabaloo
But silent, very
Silent, here for me.
“Is any one home?”
“Is any one me!”
Oh not again have I
Crashed this party
Of the cosmic dogma,
The revelry and revelers
Of a pc wax museum.
My apologies to the academy
I depart early, my blonde
Mannequin (Gender Studies,
Ph.D.) a little stiff from it all
Herself, but melting,
I agog to mold her in
The perfect image of Rebel desire
Or she I, whatever,
Her latest psycho study maybe.
Hmph.  But if we don’t talk politics…
At the apartment we talk
About the weather, warm,
A kiss and cuddle,
Dance a little.  Miraculously
The wax museum recedes
To bouncy life.
She laughs.  I laugh.
“Yee-aay-ee!  Wah-Who-Eeee!”
The wax museum be damned
And vanquished in this bed!
“Rrrrrr-yahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-yip-yip-yip-yip-yip!”
Only a Secesh blow-up doll
Folded discreetly beneath its springs
Begs to differ.

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