Artificial but Intense

They float at the bottom
Of the gold, sunlit pool,
Rotating slowly,

Smiling peacefully,
The department store
Mannequins. They are,

Of course, passionless,
Void of emotions,
Hunger—or desire,

If these words say so.
But even these words
Allow for a glint,

A dot of white paint
In the corner of
Each Bakelite eye.

Malicious? Who knows?
Wise children think so.
Don’t swim through shallows.