her purse, your hat

the guard at the museum
lazily searches
your hat, her purse,
then waves you on
with sleepy eyes
towards
the long marbled
hall, down the stairs
into a gallery of
art. rembrant, degas,
whistler too.
things you've known
but never seen, or
stood next to.
but it's the guard
you remember most.
his blue uniform
nearly black, his
tiredness, so much
of his life
behind him, his
delicate brown
hands pushing forward
her purse,
your hat.