Last week, we got a wooden mannequin at Ikea.
He lay straight in a plastic tube.
The kids called him RIP Mr. Little Wooden Guy.
Mama took him out of the cylindrical coffin.
He’s a stiff little fellow; his hips don’t rotate.
The kids danced with him around the house.
I bought someone to draw.
A figure who wouldn’t run away.
The kids gave him a little headband.
But I wanted someone who can do a full range of poses.
A mannequin who could do the Eight Brocades.
The kids hinted that Mr. Little Wooden Guy would love to have a friend.