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2003-07-10 - 3:17 p.m.


Clutching brown bag lunches,
the children come from dinosaur bones
to stare at wax dummies.

Behind the glass, in a Styrofoam winter,
their ancestors are wrapped in furs,
forever building red light bulb campfires.

Among the children, there’s mild interest,
most of all for the bestial man
who clutches a long and jagged spear

and stares into the poster-paint landscape,
eyes squinting at some distant, predatory howl.
Maybe one child says cool, maybe one

streaks a finger along the glass, before
the teacher prods the class down the corridor,
their footfalls echoing like primitive drums.



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