With the Art Museum,  My family,

Some people visit, but most just pass by

The owner,

called father by some,

Trying to keep things running

A guard is my brother, bored of work,

Should be keeping watch,

but oblivious to trouble

Artwork,

with a plaque that says “I”,

Viewers pass by, looking,

but never get past the glass

a critic,

known as the stepmother,

Complaining about the museum itself

A Museum keeps running, even if a disaster happens,

yet nothing is quite the same.