We don’t know what to do with the dead things – by Louisa Campbell

 

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Skin them, chop them, stuff them in a pie.
Boil them up with vegetables. Put them on to fry.

Take them to a taxidermist; pose them in glass cases.
Use their hides for furry hats (but don’t look at their faces).

Dress them up in pretty clothes and lay them down in boxes.
Bury them deep underground to save them from the foxes.

Stick their heads on wooden poles, outside the city gate.
Add some coloured circles and display them in the Tate.

Drop them in the deepest sea, in a lead-lined coffin.
Donate them to the lab to be dissected by a boffin.

Seal them up in pyramids with hoards of golden treasure.
Put them in a carriage, drawn by horses wearing feathers.

Stand them up in catacombs. Sing a hymn of sorrow.
Or,
Chuck them in the freezer now and work it out tomorrow.

 

 

 

Louisa Campbell hangs around English spa towns. A psychiatric nurse in the past, she now has a bizarre illness, so she writes, and adopts stray dogs. She has realised that life is silly, but important, and she is very happy about that.