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?