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Debra Holton

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February 24, 2013

A poem about the relationship between a corpse and her embalmer

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When they found me dead

I was unrecognizable

My neck had been snapped

and the blood loss was sizable


But my embalmer he saw me

his eyes did not blink

and gently he bathed me

in his embalmer's sink


He dried me off slowly

with obvious care

then buffed all my nails

and styled my hair


My clothes he removed with

the skill of a pro

He looked me all over

his eyes were aglow


He made up my face

with powder and blush

His face was quite flushed

and I heard him gush


“It's a pity your dead,

such a terrible fate,

but good luck for me,

since I can't get a date.”


And as I wondered

what was on his mind

he flipped me right over

and took me from behind


My embalmer he loves me

and now that I'm dead

he'll polish my nails

comb the hair on my head


But if I had known

that to this I was fated

I would have chosen

to be well-cremated.