Our annual Halloween poem: "Picture a Corpse"

Picture a corpse,
A dirty old thing,
A navy blue suit,
A gold wedding ring.

Now picture a worm,
Segmented and white,
His poor little belly
Still empty this night.

And picture a rat,
A father of twenty,
Who smells in this grave
A feast fit for plenty.

Then picture a madman
In white lab attire.
He comes with a shovel
And a hunchback-for-hire.

The four come together.
Well, three come to one:
The corpse doesn't move,
Its moving days done.

They look at each other
In the light of the moon.
Each hopes that the other two's
Leaving real soon.

But here comes a graverobber,
Dirty, uncouth.
He smiles at this standoff
With glinting gold tooth.

And up comes a dirty
Black wagon of men.
They work for the medical
School. And that's when

A butcher and baker
Walk up to the grave.
They're arguing over where
Cuts should be made.

And then there's a man into
Lustful disgraces.
He's looking for love
In all the wrong places.

They all come together,
Encircling the crypt.
What they have in common
Are needs that are sick.

They're hopeless dependents
On our dear departed.
Their life's work consists of things
Not for faint-hearted.

And as their ranks swell,
The mood starts to smother.
It's really quite awkward,
Like lunching with Mother.

"What now?" they say.
Each looks at the rest.
"What do we do?"
"I really protest!

I was here first!"
"No, I was!" "No, I!'
"Go get you're own!
I'm making Guy Pie!"

"You'll ruin my research!"
"You won't need his purse..."
"But let us at least take
His kidneys out first..."

"Think of my children!
They're hungry and blind!"
"Think of the students!
Dissection's at nine!"

"Look at my segments!
They're wrinkled and weak!"
"To end up with you all's
A waste of physique!

Don't touch him! He's pretty!
He wants to be loved!"
"You're creepy. My lab table's
All that he's worthy of."

Around and around,
They argued and spat
And pleaded, persuaded,
And threatened with cats.

And night passed them by,
The sun washed their faces;
Graverobbing's no fun
When the gloom it replaces.

So each slunk away,
Empty-handed and sad.
They couldn't agree,
And all fared quite bad.

But Corpse-y will be there
Again the next night.
He's not going nowhere.
Just please be polite.


In the future, men will know their place.

The straw that broke