I awoke to find the building empty,
peacocks hooting outside
on the grass courts, and to my left, in bed
with me, her forehead dappled with sweat
of napping, the daughter of a man I knew.
I poked at her but she would not wake up.
I slipped into a white robe which dwarfed me
and went downstairs. The jacuzzi burbled.
Late sunlight blanched the far end of the courts.
Erotic pamphlets lay scattered around
but I was too tired to engage with them
in any way; I flipped through the pages
then fixed a brisk drink, and one for the girl.
We were alone as stone outcroppings.
She rolled over in bed, pulsing. I stripped
off the bedclothes and she squirmed but still slept.
Nobody would ever know what I did.
When I emptied both drinks on her, she slept
through it, and when I sipped them from her
declivities, and rolled her to get at
the rest, she mumbled in her sleep and frowned
like a schoolgirl mentally rotating
a three-dimensional object in her head.
And when the poison in the drinks pressed me
on top of her and my tongue fell out
quivering against her clavicles, and
my entire body went tumescent,
her face became calm. The face of a doll.
Then I realized she really was a doll,
a very warm, battery-powered doll.