The doll of an

urban legend,

born on 5th avenue

and

made in Macy’s Herald Square,

threw away her

metro card.

To the woods

she walked;

her purse became a street mutt

and

the trees chipped her heels

into

below average-quality

hiking shoes.

The next top model of

indie wood fire cover albums,

a log from it

emerged in

her path, the

doll.

Like any new-found

rebellion,

this one saw a whole world

found right

at its feet.

This one stepped

down right

at its feet.

But this model was

muscular;

the revolution’s foot went

rolling across its

lean curves.

The water’s current,

finding itself more

lifted,

threw the foreigner against

its cold walls,

and turned this

antigen

back to its

doll state.

Had the tides

suppressed the new-found

life?

Or was this life meant

encapsulated, degraded,

and

not at all?