At the museum we all pile out, single file,
 line up, take a
bow. En route we’d passed the mall and
 the BP on the
corner, making up Tinder profiles for
dogs, giggling and eliciting short, sharp
 screams as we got an
eyeful of the prospects on the app, a
few kindly matching us. Holding onto
 our tickets we encounter
gloom. I consult my analogue watch.
 Split into groups we
head upstairs to the mezzanine floor.
I understand that my feet are what move
 me forward.
Jesus held by Mary icons glitter on a wall
 as if
kissed by sunlight. I say three Hail
 Marys, whisper the 10 commandments,
 feel
liberated. Another exhibit wearing the
motley colours of a bruise looks forlorn.
 Balloon animals in unsettling
neon colours clenched tightly in our fists
 pop. My feet move me forward.
Opposite the Buddhist statues deified like
 character-unit
palindromes we eat our lunch cheerfully,
quench our thirst with L&P then follow
 our leader who is dressed
rather too conspicuously than her father
 would like, in a plunging
silver, lurex playsuit. My feet move me
 forward.
Twice now I’ve seen an old ship,
underside exposed like 1000 human
 teeth.
Virtual reality displays offer experiences
 such as rural scenes
where you can cuddle a cow. My feet
 move me forward. A meteorite
xenolith in a locked display case begs to
 be stroked.
Yawning, our leader directs us back to
 our
zeppelin:Â We line up, single file, board
 and get out our phones.
ROSIE COPELAND
Lower Hutt, NZ
