Dead Man’s Body

Simon MacCulloch

“And here,” says our leader, “is the dead man’s eye.

And here comes the other.” But my own work fine

So I let both the eyeballs (skinless grapes) pass by.

And the head (hairy coconut), no match for mine!

Now the guts (butcher’s offal), those I’ve got, I know

And the teeth (bits of gravel) wouldn’t fit my jaw

So it’s all kinda boring, and the time goes slow

While they pass round the penis (that’s a sausage, raw)

Then the heart, and the liver, and the kidneys too

And the brain (cauliflower), fingers (carrots), stuff

You could use in a recipe for human stew

But I’m not really hungry, and I’ve had enough

When the leader says: “And last of all, the dead man’s soul.”

“It’s alive!” whispers someone. “Sure - a soul don’t die.”

And I think this is what I want to make me whole.

So I wait while the others have their laugh and cry

Till the thing settles wriggling in my sweaty hand

Like a grub, and I pop it in my gob and gulp.

Then it’s game over, lights on, and the whole gang stand

To admire all their organs, all the bone and pulp

That our brave leader scavenged from the junkyard pits

Where the crews dump the folk who lost a tad too much.

Well, they’re sure pretty chuffed to get replacement bits

And they’re pleased with their fingers and their toes and such

But you’d think that they thought I was a carny geek

Who had just et a chicken, from the way they stare.

“Yeah, a soul,” says the leader, “But he ain’t no freak.

Seems they all used to have ‘em for a while back there.

If it works, maybe some of you can try one too.”

And my chest’s puffing out, until he turns on me:

“So just what the fuck is it supposed to do?”

I don’t bloody know. I’ll have to wait and see.