Institution

a pigeon

feeds from the

floor

of the museum

cafe

poisoned like

the rest

of us

(at tables)

the simulated

rainforest next door

encases

what’s left

of indigenous

Melbourne

perch and crayfish pause

in cut outs

into once was food

commons

a Pandora of a Kulin trace

the reticulating pump 

pretending hope and abundance

shameless womb envy 

of a building; 

idea

I took Blackwood to see the whale bones, fishing spears and shell strings at the Melbourne Museum today. We stopped by the cafe for some nourishment. It was a brief moment of civil sucking and gut killing, all in all a bad move, which triggered this poem.