Poem

[lolotehe]

When first I laid my eyes on you
Your lips were puffy, and quite blue
The nose, a rotten, moldy waste
That I would have to fix with paste

With careful dabs of paint and wax
I brought your fair countenance back
And what had been blow off by shotgun
Was replaced with cotton and spirit gum

When first they brought you, in your bag
With rotten bones and fleshy sag
Your hands had swollen, and your soles.
The eyes had jellied in their holes

In carefully pressed suit and tie
No trauma did your face belie
Recomposition is no easy task, it
Allows your family open casket.

My skill, my talent, close to my heart
I practice the last of the dying arts!
This poem read at your final rest
Nullo metro compositum est.

---

This still needs a lot of work.

Comments

[pupdetofu.livejournal.com]

Neat.

[pupdetofu.livejournal.com]

I meant to add this at the time, but forgot -- this poem reminds me a little of Anthony Hecht.

[lolotehe]

It's for a mortician character at a poetry reading. He's out-doing the goths in this scene.

I was hoping for more of a Leah Sublime level of gross.