by Steven J. Serafiani

When I was young my favorite Uncle would visit with much fanfare
the man whom I was named after would always take me to buy baseball cards at the mall
as we walked through the corridors of shops and past fountains littered with pennies
he would stop in front of every women’s store and look at the mannequins just behind glass
they were the life-like ones
with arms perched in graceful positions
pouty lips and eyes that would stop any man
a dainty dress that fit just perfectly and swayed gently from the air conditioner just above
an elegant hat and a handbag hung on a delicate wrist
a necklace that draped down their sensitive neck
he would just gaze
deep in thought
for minutes at a time

he has since grown old
no wife or kids to speak of
but I’m sure he still looks fondly at those mannequins
and as I grow older, I’ve found that we share more than a name
we share in the search of perfection
the search for acceptance.