Evolution

After the dinosaur, the flight, the bird.
After the Australopithecus, the slow beginning, the man.
In the first tentative feather, the albatross, the poem.
In the first chip of flint, the automobile, the rock and roll song.

I keep a jar of egg teeth, bone Venus idols, hollowed whetstones.
I shake it to time the march of progress.
It’s not an evolution unless something vanishes.
It’s not an evolution if no memory remains of the vanished.