Some Days by Billy Collins

Some days I put the people in their places at the table,

bend their legs at the knees,

if they come with that feature,

and fix them into the tiny wooden chairs.

All afternoon they face one another,

the man in the brown suit,

the woman in the blue dress,

perfectly motionless, perfectly behaved.

But other days, I am the one

who is lifted up by the ribs,

then lowered into the dining room of a dollhouse

to sit with the others at the long table.