THE FLOATING BRIDGE
Avid Shumate

MANNEQUINS
At auction I buy two dozen mannequins and set them around the
house. I give each a name and dress them in tuxedos. Gowns.
Work clothes. Pajamas. I set a few in front of the television. Two
at the kitchen table. A man on the toilet. A woman in the shower.
Four on the lawn with croquet mallets. At night vandals arrange
them in obscene positions. But I don't mind. I'm glad they're
interested. Two mannequins lie naked in the spare bedroom
staring up at the ceiling. One dangles by his neck from a rope in
the workshop. Pull him once--the garage door opens. Pull him
again--it closes. The rest are stacked in the purgatory of my
closet. My neighbors think I'm a pervert. My mother doesn't
believe in psychiatrists but makes an exception in this case. Last
week the police searched the place and left laughing. When my
lover arrives she calls them by their proper names. She brings a
new hat for one. A paisley scarf for another. Then she turns the
lights out and stands quite still among them. I know which one
she is. But I play along with her little game.

_________

THE HOUSE OF DEATH

When you arrive in the House of Death they serve you a dish of
purple fruit they chilled the night before. They give you a choice
of hats. Pointed or flat. A pair of sandals. A white robe. You get to
select five things to remember from when you were alive. The rest
you must leave behind. You have the run of the place. But candles
are forbidden. As well as talk of regret. It's a large house that takes
years to traverse. To break the monotony they hold dances out on
the lawn and tell jokes. Like the one about the priest and the
camel... Or the man who jumped from the plane... There's
only one clock in the House of Death. It's all unloaded by hand. Then
carted off to the cliffs and dumped into the sea.

________________