Some days I put the people in their places at the table.
Bend their legs at the knees if they come with that feature.
And fix them into the tiny wooden chairs.
All afternoon they face each other.
The man in the brown suit,
the woman in the blue dress.
Perfectly motionless,
perfectly behaved.
But other days, I am the one who is lifted up by the ribs,
then lowered into the dining room of a doll house to sit with the others at the long table.
Very funny,
but how would you like it if you never know
from one day to the next if you were going to spend it striding around like a vivid God,
your shoulders in the clouds.
Or sitting down there amidst the wallpaper,
staring straight ahead with your little plastic face.
