mr simpson’s collection

the kids
pulling suitcases
down the sidewalk
staring up
at the monoliths
of glass and steel
small towns
embroidered on
their matching shirts
of small towns
in the middle of
nowhere, texas
feeling the rustic
civilization of
ft worth pressing down
from all sides

i try to
wrap my head around
the collection
hidden in two towers
owned by a billionaire
i just roamed around
the car that
kennedy was shot it
elvis’s cadillac
the lone ranger’s costume
rows upon rows
of statues and paintings
a working calliope
and the first plane
the post office used
to deliver mail
all locked away
where no one except
a fool and a security guard
can enjoy them

i stand next to
a dinosaur skeleton
watching the
wide eyed kids
in a herd headed
down the street
our collective eyes
full of wonder
them at the big city
and me at the sheer
amount of history
kept from the world
well aware that
jackie o once stretched
across the trunk
of this black vehicle
to scrabble for a chunk
of her husband’s skull

the older i get
the more i realize
i don’t understand
but i still feel
the awe of this
insane catastrophe
we call life

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