Doll Maker

They strut in
Boots clicking
Bought from the
same magazine
Little buckles
tinkling
Shiny leather
shining
Stretching across
perfect calves
Perfect whole
to perfect halves
My hands nervously
iron out the
imaginary wrinkles
in my navy blue scrubs
Toes scrunch in my
comfy but
rather ugly work clogs
Did the doll maker
pick and choose
who would be
pretty and perfect?
He surely must've
But I giggle to myself
brush past the dolls
on my way out of the elevator

Some dolls are just made different