Sinéad glides daintily on smooth, piceous paths
On her way to who knows what
In naive bliss, slips to the edge
Unconcerned with the obscure details of destination
Ah, little girl, but now see!
The path has now split
Pray tell, what will you do?
Oh, a decision, inertia! How thrilling…
But options just aren’t offered
To ignorant dolls on assembly lines
So her conveyor belt chooses once more
And she’s boxed up with the others
Copyright © Bethany Richardson 2012