The job in the morgue was perfect for a necrophiliac
Customer relations he called it
I bring that human touch to my work
He said
And the benefits are quite good
Grandma was a Daughter of the Revolution
Lifting up memory of the past and gone
And honoring a Puritan ethic
Instilling this spirit
In each of us with her gingerbread
And a sharp criticism
Of recounted failures of will
She felt our hands were strong
And our minds mostly as well
So that excuses were but excuses
Sheer laziness has no reward
All labors are not the equal of service
To duty
In the eyes of God
It is nothing to die
Even each day
Or once in a lifetime
Secure in position
Sure of fame
Sheltered in knowledge and ignorance
Safe in memory and thought
Owned and owning
Only if at that moment
Duties due are done
[modified 10-19-97]