This is a story
About a post mortem
I should have attended
When I was a youngster
Studying the functions
Of local authorities.
There was a reason
Why I couldn’t go
To witness the butchery
Done at the mortuary,
So somebody else
Went in my stead,
Unafraid of the dead.
He thought it a rave
To see a cadaver,
Examined to find
If it died of a fever,
Prepared for the grave.
But he wasn’t so brave,
For my proxy was sick
All over the floor
When the knife was applied,
Even though there’s no bleeding
When people have died
And their bodies are cut.
He ran out of the door
And swore that he’d never
Go back any more.