by Ashley Lister
I need to preface this with an introduction as to how and why this poem relates to this week's theme.
Last week I was chatting with Michelle about the Dead Good Poets workshops at Blackpool Central Library. The workshops are always good and Michelle mentioned that some of the poets had (as always) contributed some exciting and innovative work, despite working with material outside their comfort zone. I made a comment about my admiration for one particular poet's ability to rise to every challenge presented, regardless of how extreme or bizarre, and this is the poem I came up with inspired by that poet's persistent resourcefulness.
So, that's the connection. This is the poem.
The Necrophilia Love Poem
Nothing could be sillier
than a bout of necrophilia
But I always get the bone
When I’m reading your headstone
I could be plundering your tomb
Then maybe plundering your womb
Cos you’re the one I truly crave
Whilst you’re lying in your grave
We’ll try a kinky new position
I don’t mind decomposition
In fact I think you’re really hot
And you’ve got a sexy plot
There’ll be lots of midnight boffin’
Whilst you’re lying in your coffin
I think it’s great you weren’t cremated
Your remains can be inseminated…
Nothing could be sillier
Than a bout of necrophilia
But I’ve thought on this for hours
And at least I’d bring you flowers
My soul might be damned and could be cursed
But it won’t matter that I finish first
And maybe you might turn cold to me
Or be coated with some mould I’d see
But our love’s not misbegotten
Though your flesh turns stale and rotten
If I gave your corpse a face full
You’d know that I was being faithful
Because one thing above all would still be true
Even in death, I’d still love you...
Regularly.