Sticky mannequins at the bottom
Of the lake. Your daughter contemplates,
Trying to conjure the scariest
Combination of things that she hates—
Sticky things, mannequins, things that lie
Down in dark moss under clear water.
It’s an old game, good for long car drives,
Including variants combining
Your three happiest things, three weirdest,
The menu for your ideal dinner,
Anything you can banter about
As a daylong drive rolls up the miles.
You laugh. Imagine those mannequins’
Staring from half-closed, sticky eyelids.
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