Oh, fertility

Juicy as she may have been,
Caroline makes an average statuette.
Her likeness is no closer to life
than movie tie-in merchandise,
apologising with unmistakeable costume
Granted, stone does not bend generously
and she was never one to be captured
anyway, but two spheres, a disclaimer
and a nametag, or a garden gnome
in a wig would take me
more speedily to her. The artist
must have folded
at the pollen pockets of her breasts
in source material; must have
set down the file or chisel
and despaired, jilting
the tiny goddess halfway
between hyperreal and monstrous.
Caroline would have cocked her head
at the spectre. Caro
would have laughed, then frowned
frustrated that we could not hear her.