No Peace for the Dead
There I was deceased; dead as dead can be,
I get a knock on my coffin and get up to see,
Who was this disturbing my eternal slumber,
Banging my coffin; who gave them my number?
“Hello, Mr McGovern I’m from the DWP,
Here to inform you of a government decree;
It says the dead shall be usefully employed,
Not lazing about as you previously enjoyed”
“Just what do you want; I’ve settled life’s debt;
Are you out for a Steffi; or, are you having a bet?
You caused my early death, you made me ill,
Not satisfied with that you’re harassing me still”
Then, I put out a message to all those around,
Of a meeting to be convened in our burial ground;
To oppose and resist by all means at our disposal,
The official edict; ‘The Dead Must Work’ proposal.
Corpses, cadavers, carcasses, skeletons, the dead,
Assembled, curiously awaiting what was to be said.
A recently dead body with both eyes still in place,
Read out the edict to moans and cries of ‘Disgrace’.
The issue then was opened up to the floor for debate,
The outcome of which could very well seal our fate;
To continue to repose in our various states of decay;
Or, be forced to take on work for less than basic pay.
The vote went unanimously against the dead working,
With an amendment stating that we were not shirking;
No, we’d done our fair share when we still had breath,
And, that nothing should disturb our peace in death.