OK, this is a fridge door poem I made earlier, but since the object it describes is once again being exhibited I’m passing it off as done today
Rhyme # 13: Piece in an exhibition
A broken ribcage from some broken
But these aren’t bones – too glibly spoken!
That’s no knotted ridge of spine.
This work displayed in art school stairway
is not by some apprentice Yahweh,
nor did the wondrous Burgess Shale
a woven life like this unveil.
And yet it speaks of some great sorrow,
something beautiful that’s lost,
A world bereft, left with a ghost.
Perhaps a warning for tomorrow
unless we act, lives we hold dear
will be as if they never were.