I used to be an institution
Mothers used to bring their children, point at my twin hearts and say
“Look how it’s made of different pieces. Do you see the glove?
The tin can?
The ax embedded in its center?”
Teenagers used to scavenge for sticks and make music
On the pipes in the garden
Teenagers used to sit under the willow trees
And get kissed
Art students stood in the halls
They pretended they understood Magritte
Now my exhibits lie in boxes
Discarded with the love they used to own
