Annabelle
Mr. Dawe encourages us
to enter the mall
instead of standing
like stone pillars
at the doors, as though
we have no right
to be inside, among
the shoppers.
He says we’d have more
impact getting them
right at the scene
of their crimes, our
actions doubled
in glass storefronts,
the innocent shoppers
caught by our lures:
Powder blue flyers
designed to resemble
promo-junk, two-for-one,
buy-one-get-one-free,
except that when they
open them they see
Asian girls sleeping
in a toy factory dorm
tight as a submarine,
Two rows of bunks
stretching forever,
like an image caught
in a dressing room
mirror, reflecting
into infinity, which
is what their days
must feel like, seven
to ten, short breaks
and little food.
I wonder if they sometimes
stab their fingers on
their needles just to jab
themselves awake and
if they do, do they
think of Sleeping Beauty,
who at least got to sleep
for one hundred years
before being rescued
by Prince Charming?