clears its throat and holds forth
to the symposium’s audience
of one hundred and twenty stacking chairs,
a water cooler with seven plastic cups, and a broom.
Is it a given then, that these Old Masters
are shorn of their aesthetic and their monetary value
when there are no human eyes to feast here?
it asserts, getting into its stride.
The water-cooler gurgles crankily in response,
the broom agitates the dust
while the faces on the walls look
as they have looked for tongue-tied centuries.