Nirvana by Melissa Watkins Starr

The dolls
in Mary’s basement
do not dream
of little girls’
precocious imaginations
to plan their evenings
or run shrieks of pins
through their ears.
What relief to lie
silent, moldy
undisturbed among
eggbeaters and corkscrews
with naked Ken
who never sees
bad hair cuts
green ears
wrinkled gowns.
Barbie knows
he’s easy,
laid back,
her kind of man.