his sins and transgressions.
He’s Catholic and didn’t receive last rites.
I tell him to shut up, it’s too late,
his body is now an empty bag of meat,
his soul having flown the coop, crossed over,
gone to that great Disneyland in the sky.
Things got weird from there.
The moon was casting a double helix
and a red caul covered the sky.
The cadaver of a young girl cried
that such a thing hasn’t been seen
since Romulus Augustus was deposed by Odoacer.
I should have removed her tongue when I took her eyes.
Now she thinks she’s Cassandra
issuing dire warnings of the apocalypse.
All around me, the dead begin to babble excitedly,
trying to climb off the tables where
I had so carefully arranged them.
I command them to get back,
but like sulking children they start to whine
and pout, stamping their feet,
demanding to go outside to gaze
at the portentous moon.
The rebellion continues until
I threaten to remove their brains.
I think I really need a new line of work
Published in Abbey, June 2011
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