Unorthodox Congeniality

In a shed
behind a boat

a giraffe hugs

a mannequin

in lingerie.

She’s taped up

like hope

with no follow-through.

Left breast: duct tape.

Right breast: same.

They appear

to be having

a moment.

One arm raised,

one finger pointing—

at what?

Nobody knows.

Maybe God.

Maybe the fuse box.

You cannot

roller skate

in a buffalo herd.

But you can

make eye contact

with a fiberglass giraffe

and feel

understood.

Do giraffes

recognize mirth?

If so,

they hide their tell.

Too much thinking

chokes the magic.

Too much seriousness

snaps the string.

Let it be—

and the surreal settles

like a memory

of an almost familiar song.

Just look.

Don’t ask.

Sit still.

Don’t name it.

Don’t fix it.

Just—

watch.

People want meaning.

They want cause

and effect,

a punchline

with timing.

But not everything

needs to resolve.

A mannequin.

A giraffe.

Some duct tape.

And the question:

Do giraffes recognize mirth?

Or are they simply better

at not needing to?

Sense arrives late

and ruins the view.

You cannot

roller skate

in a buffalo herd.

But here,

you can listen

to plastic silence,

witness

unorthodox congeniality,

and know,

without knowing,

that stillness lives

in the unsolved.

Porter Lake, Maine