They say you can sleep when you’re dead
They call it eternal rest
I always thought it sounded kind of nice
I never guessed
That I’d still have to work, even now
When I died, I couldn’t help but notice
That I was still noticing everything.
I had expected either pearly gates
Or fire and brimstone.
Not to be trapped in a cooling corpse
Listening to my family weep.
Not to be being surprised that the grave I was in was so deep.
At least it seemed very deep
When I had to dig myself out
Later that night.
My boss called, you see.
My new boss:
The one who’d used charms and gris-gris
To bind me to his service.
I didn’t sign anything, don’t quite understand why,
But now if he says jump, I say how high.
Even though it’s usually more of a shuffle.
After all, this body is still dead.
Nothing works properly
But I still have to work.
When he makes me do odd jobs, that’s not so bad.
Even though bits of me drop off sometimes
If I’m not careful.
But I hate it when he tells me to kill someone.
It’s not that I care about killing,
It’s just that I wish it was me instead of them.
At least they get to rest.
Tom Juniper Poetry 