Mannequin Man

Is that me behind those plastic eyes
peering out over chrome and glass?

Are those my limbs that are
clinked together in such
permanent positions waiting
for someone to tap that hollow
leg or adjust that aching arm?

Is that me who has no mind to think
no voice to speak, no heart to feel?

Are those parts ready to be
dismantled by rough uncaring hands
hired to do a daily task?

Is that me who is becoming nothing
but neatly tagged pieces of what was
and what might be ?

Is that me Mannequin Man?