in the valley of the dolls

open grave, open casket

welcome back

to the bread basket—

and dead dolls have no eyes

 

this alley of rust

is a junkyard coulee

filled with dead dolls and derelicts

no crusher will ever bust

not just farm trucks

but once proud sedans

even an out of place convertible

out of luck

 

and I wonder where these dolls have been?

and what they’ve seen?

 

now home to spiders

snakes, rabbits, mice but

microorganism breakdowns

are now the permanent drivers

 

and dolls sigh through open doors

and bullet holes

 

weeds and willow trees

have grown through floorboards

and out busted windows to dance

with tall grass in the foothill breeze

the pink Caddy it seems

looks especially forlorn

like the aging movie star

and her lost American dream

 

and the old doll is looking rougher

an extreme makeover won’t fix her

 

brown spots become oxide cavities

broken iron bones, seized organs

and her lost chromium dream

as Mother Nature claims the fee

 

and from empty sockets to red eyes

I swear she winked at me

 

dumped ’til eternity calls

rust to dust, metal to ashes

unless there’s an impossible intervention

rescue or reanimation—

in the valley of the dolls

About troysherdahl

A blue-collar bohemian with a penchant for fine words and dirty jeans.
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