Curled around in neat segmented sanded sections
behind glass misted by ten thousand eager noses
dragged back by the collar, lie the fossils.
Somehow they have more life now.
More life than the moth I squashed with my thumb:
its blood drying on the kitchen cabinet door,
it's millennia of wings, patient in the laundry
to be washed off my jeans.
There is a graphic, to earnestly describe,
the process by which certain individuals
attain significance. A cautionary tale
of constipation, that isn't very healthy.
Then this happened, then that happened,
then we don't know what happened,
but then this happened, viola! a horse.
And hey! If you don't believe me!
Strike a match, drive a car,
look at the internet and abort all Down's kids.
This would all be condemned as witchcraft
Now move along...
to the animatronic dinosaurs:
now with new and improved feathers.
Then this happened, then that happened
then we don't know what happened
but then this happened, voila! we're in the gift-shop
eating chocolate eggs.
'Did Jesus really die for our sins?' you ask.
'God can do anything.'
'No, he can't.' you say.
And I don't disagree, for who
can doubt sand?
or swim against the silting tide
pressing down upon the bones of that
we seek to remember
Nothing has the weight of stone,
And I hope, but not pray,
that when your teeth have cocoa rotted:
that you will not idly lay down,
to the generations who got you here
to this place of insignificance.