Lara Egger
Crash Test Dummy
The dynamite store is out of dynamite.
I almond around, waiting for night’s submarine.
I work hard at being the best mannequin
and meanwhile, people clearly love each other.
Who’s got a grip on that island?
What is everyone else not doing?
The placebo tastes like medicine—
is that the problem or the point?
Frequently, my gondola is wanting for passengers.
When I need water, I turn on the faucet.
It looks easy because it’s so complicated.
All this talk about poetry is burning my feet.
The autopsy’s inconclusive.
I blame metaphor’s plastic flowers.
People like stories. Especially sad ones.
Be nice, and bring me, please, some onions.