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It is said in Tibet
That when the high lamas, the realized ones
You can find in their ashes
Special precious stones
Not bones: relics.
I worry about it,
What will be left behind
When the rest of me melts
What to do
With my non-compostables?
Not just the everyday fillings
But the wires holding my teeth together
Or keeping them apart
The stent – plastic? aluminum? titanium?
That keeps that artery open in my heart.
When the rest of me is gone –
And what of the rest of you?
Your pacemakers, chemo feeder tubes,
Replacement hips, knees, shoulders
God knows what implants
All a heap of unrecyclable rubble
No relics to be found here
Found, enshrined, taken on tour
See you at the dump