There are cameras dead throughout the hall,
“The Future through our eyes” I read aloud
While everyone and everything is gone-or did I leave?
But there were others- they have left remains
Men sweep the rumors up, and take them out;
There are grey coffins for their bones by every door,
Drains in the floor, though we are in a drought.

This trophy case is sometimes nearly full;
I helped with two, the rest aren’t up to me.
(The silver warriors locked in their embrace,
Are the only ones who seem to see.)

Where is the world?
-Not here.
Though you can see it’s shadows on the walls;
Texas, China, Spain, and Italy.

Here is a fountain broken, there graffiti gray,
A sign asks not to litter, but in vain.
Just who, then, is left to make their mark upon the world?
Just who are we remembering?

I sigh, and think, and slowly pace
Along the edges of the view.
“In case of fire, use stairs”;
Sometimes that seems so hard to do.