Poet’s Toothbrush

I dreamed I was in a future where a poet’s toothbrush was going to auction.

“I think it will bring a million, for sure.” Said the talking head.

“Aren’t there others.”

“There may but I believe there can’t be as many as 10 in total.  He’s a very famous poet.  Some are in museums.  There were three or four that did a tour at one time,  I don’t know of any more. This is the first to be auctioned in a decade,”

The poet was a truly famous man. A writer and an oracle. He’d read his works all over the known world.  The recordings had been heard off world carried in the belongings of pioneers.  Mothers continued to name their first born baby after him. The naughty and quite mischievous tales of his principle lover had made her rich and famous as well. The hotel where they slept in in an obscure little town in Europe had become a major shrine listed in all the travel guides.

“What is it about this toothbrush, though?”

“It’s the most worn,” she said. “He had it with him when he followed the war and wrote those unforgettable ballads about the generals and politicians .  

“Those were indeed sublime.”

“Sublime in fact was the word most used in describing his works.  “