The Museum

 The Museum (Feb.2017)

Noticing the historic preservation of objects;
Survived inventions, built through hardships unknown,
Today earning a museum attendant their paycheck.

Old U.S. Post Office with letters on dusty 1800’s desk,
Many long-gone Civil War soldiers left unread.
Union blue uniforms worn by mannequin display,
Showing: pistol, sword, canteen and rifle,
Draped is the thirty-three star war efforts flag.

Publicly display the slave whip and shackled chains,
Unsurrendered still are Negro prayers for emancipation.
1893 stained glass window with sunlight beating through,
Looking at the Rivers Edge, 2017’s world shown anew.

O creative spirit that is, then isn’t;
Photograph the hypodermic syringe, touch the model barn,
See the ceiling décor getting a white paint restoration.

USS Waukesha (AKA-84) ships bell, memorial gift from the Navy;
Ordered to Pearl Harbor when the two Atomics boomed,
Witness to the Jap's surrender.
Now sitting in a hall with note “Please Don’t Ring Bell,”
Framed certificate story, covered in forty years dust underneath;
Reaching under, slide it from its tomb, see it.

Beautiful Justice atop the roof of 1893,
Taken down, moved inside behind closed doors,
Sign marked “No Public Entry.”
Alas, you’re with me, for it’s them that do not see;
A door left peek-a-boo allows enter,
“Quick, Justice, smile for the camera,” Achievement!

Inspiring answers in little cloud shapes
Stick on the wall of “What’s your dream?”
“To do what I want for
    The rest of my
    Life,”
Says one destined for reinforcing.

A fresh eyed perspective upon leaving,
Turning back to photograph the buildings front,
Mold and rust share the face of the one-hundred twenty-five year old,
Who proudly stands her West Main Street ground.
Welcome to the museum.

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