In the Museum of Death the guests are eating lunch
made from a dead man’s recipe.
They use knives and forks invented by the dead.
Everyone sits in a room
built by those who are no longer with us,
everyone speaking words the dead have made.
Everything is archaeological:
prayer, toilets, table manners, cash.
Even the air was once breathed by the dead.
Look how impatiently the curator taps
his fingers on his desk. It’s getting late.
Very soon the guests will have to go.
Copyright © 2012 by James Pollock