Across the street from the hotel of yesterday’s tomorrow,

He sits in water

Because there’s no room for him to be alone.

The house is crowded with everyone

And their problems

While he tries to sort out

His and hers

And theirs and mine

(Although, he probably overlooked

His own).

Some call him the poor boy

That everyone took advantage of when he was

Rich of mind, body, and wealth;

Others just call him Ted.

And when you say “Hello Ted!”

He’ll look at you with those forest eyes

And sigh a hello back

And pull out a twenty dollar bill

And leave it on the counter for you to take

And crawl into a corner

And climb the wall as it leans just slightly to the left.

Up on the ceiling he’ll say a prayer

Lead a sermon

And conduct transubstantiation

With his hammers and nails

In hopes that his followers will open their eyes

And wipe the drool off their faces.

And maybe just once, he can say what he wants to

Instead of following the same speech

That is prefaced by a large note

Saying “Read this outloud.”