Barbi Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Her fingers are merged, this plaything, woman-doll
She requires help to stand on her tiny feet.

A permanent virgin, she wears neither nipple nor navel
No plastic surgeon has humanised her frame

Oh wasp-waisted slinky Miss,
Sheathed in a long cascade of peroxide hair
How blue your eyes!
How terribly chic your accessories!
How like a Holywood totem pole on legs!

Her breasts are indestructible
This Kali of the nursery
Her form, her face, will never age one jot
A plastic babe whose lipstick smile won't smudge

Yes, Barbie won her place in the USA time capsule
One day, exhumed, she'll puzzle archeologists

A mummy? Votive offering? Fertility piece?
Latter-day Maenad?
An all American female clothes horse dummy
No sweat. No worries. Every hair in place