The oldest known surviving intact passenger
Stern paddlewheeler in the world blew its horn,
Its mournful, pointless horn. Thirty years on land
As a museum, sixty years since its last passengers,
Six years since the seven year-old girl on deck
First visited it as a toddler, what could it have
To say for itself? Mannequins tended bar, typed
Messages, stood about in the kitchen among
Wax fruit and cakes. One mannequin peered
Out a stateroom window on the saloon deck,
Dressed in only slightly decayed Edwardian finery,
A glossy green jacket buttoned over her ivory
Dress that began at her ankles and ended at her neck.
That wistful mannequin had a mournful expression
Herself, and a damaged tip to her nose. The casque
Of a large, long-dead insect that had once crawled
Over her well-dressed, breathless chest
Hung like a papery pendant from her necklace.
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