Slammed upon a chilly slab

First a poke then a jab

Next the cuts, twists and pull

Placed in  boxes stuffed full

Locked in a closet dark and cold

Then forgotten until they’re old

Tossed from the boxes into green bags

Discarded with the garbage, bottles and rags

Thrown on a truck and driven to a boat

Holes are slashed so not to float

With procession of gulls bags dumped in the bay

The end of the cadaver’s very bad day

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