The Barbie

My very first Barbie

had skin like a Peach and

long blonde hair ponytailed

so tightly the dolls head was

in danger of splitting.

The blush was like

two cherries smeared

upon the apples of her cheekbones.

This one had a skirt that tread

to below her knees, a

cap, and plastic tennis racket

in the grip of her tiny silicone hand.

The second, a brunette.

Another peach skinned

pretty lady with glasses and

white coat. A stethoscope

draped around her neck.

And the last one was brown like dirt.

She was a darker brunette

but the hair was sticking every

which way. She was ragamuffin

who survived a hurricane.

My miniature hand thumbed

a dent into the plastic toy’s face

until it looked less human.

Dunking it head first in my sandbox,

I play house with the other two.