This huge, black room
lined with cases filled
with uplit remnants
of our past
all of us their descendants;
a shuffling crowd in
slack-jawed awe
ogling bones and beads
breathing modern disease
into our masks
these people were the same
as us with hand-axes
not iphones but
we’re wowed by their
sophistication
(as colonials to the natives)
as they shaped the
world around them
we witness our story
from freedom to farming
idol-creation to
weapons-forging
from harmony to
warfare and we end
knowing our future
as we trudge into the gift shop
and see the magical
Nebra Sky Disc printed
on a tea towel,
a plush trilithion neck cushion
keyrings and candles
landfill fodder that will never rot
how will future curators
choose whether to uplight
this crap
or not?