mannequins that bleed red

pouring plastic
was never in your face.
chemical smells from
delicate dishes;
the chef is at work.
the stew has brewed for years,
bringing out flavours long unseen –
hidden for a reason.
sick of the usual,
we put out the sinful
and sweep in something less
the mouth is reminded of
a bitter taste
drawn back from yearly habit –
a gag reflex for the soul.
with every pull of the string,
a flash immortalises
manufactured moments
where chef and doll collide,
making a dish
fit for the reunion table.

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