Dying Dignity

Riffing on comments that the only people who don’t mind the Coroner’s Office conditions are essentially blind.

Underneath the roof there lies

Particle-filled, smelly skies,

Rotting sliced and diced up walls,

Random layouts, long, strange halls,

Up to sixteen cold as ice,

Workers’ health paying the price,

Outdated technology,

And retired folk working for free.

Underneath this shack of gloom,

Lie the reasons for our doom:

Good intentions crushed and tilled

Over respect which someone killed

And buried there, body laid bare

Without permits, plans, or care.

Atop her grave rests dignity

Caressing his love while dying slowly.