hey ted’s head. you look cold. can i get you a toque?

i was recently thinking that
if i ever wrote an ode to ted
williams (you know, to win
a bet or something), someday
hundreds of years in the future
when the tree that grows from
the nutrients in my ashes has
toppled and sprouted the buds
of a whole new forest, they could
thaw ted’s head out from its
cryogenic slumber and it could
read my poem and i know all
the scientists say that cryogenics
is bunk, but what if it’s true!?
my god! ted’s head could float
on hovercraft highways, travel
to jupiter on weekends!  it could
read the poem about its being
unthawed in the future to read
my poem while rolling through
the forest grown from the tree
that was grown from me! so,
ted’s head, i’ll be waiting for you,
you eccentric, legless bastard,
and when you finally die (if you
ever do) i want you to know
that they can sprinkle your ashes
near mine where your first leaves
can unfurl in the shade of my forest,
nestled among the soft mosses and
the pattering of your great-great
granddaughter’s footsteps.

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