Box of Teeth

My 

future self
resides inside my
father’s aged cigar box,
displayed with pride on high,
above an antique upright where immortal
composers mourn and sigh from beyond at
the terrible neglect of those grand old keys.

Let the Music Carry You Away

For today’s prompt, write a future poem. The future is a never ending well of worry for some. Others harbor a great deal of optimism. Still others see a mixture of awesome flying cars and terrifying robot overlords. Regardless of your outlook, I hope there’s a poem in your very near future.

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