The Dummy

by Michael Mack

In that forgotten part of town Where wasted hopes and dreams abound, A wrinkled man with life near end, In hopes to have at least one friend, Fashioned bits of wood and things And made a dummy run by strings. He sat alone for hours on end, Conversing with his only friend And found delight within the fact That he controlled it's every act. He told it how he never had A chance, since all his luck was bad Although he'd tried so to succeed - The dummy nodded and agreed. And how his journeys in romance Had never given him a chance, And wasn't it a crying shame That he was always held to blame When everyone knew, oh so well, That life is but a living Hell, Controlled by lust and power and greed? The dummy nodded and agreed. With patience that would rival saints, That dummy sat through all complaints And, with each little expert tug, He'd droop his head or bow or shrug And give some comfort to the man Who held his lifelines in his hand And helped to fill a lonely need When he just nodded and agreed. Senility increased with time As did the old man's phantomime, And feverish fingers pulled with glee The dummy's dance of misery. They never left each other's side Until the day both stopped and died. We found them lying, hand in hand, The dummy - and his wooden friend.