"Shall I Compare Thee to a Backfill Pile?"
April 27, 2000
by Lila Beldock Cohen
Today, when someone leaves this world
And goes to meet his maker,
His poor bereaved are oft relieved
To learn the undertaker
Will gladly honor Mastercard.
No mourner would he harry.
(Although, of course, without remorse
He'd opt for cash and carry.)
The first Egyptians were wiser far
In matters funerary.
No souped-up prices to pack off Isis,
No discounts when they'd bury.
Instead of drip-dry winding sheets
For a corpse on a fruitwood stand,
They'd empty his tummy and make him a mummy
And hustle him into the sand.
In time, the pharaohs, drunk on wealth,
Got hooked on newer angles;
They built their tombs with rumpus rooms
And kohl-dust stars and bangles.
Some early Daniel Webster carved
A glyph for "stiff" and hearse words,
Then someone shut the door on Tut--
What's left of him now? Curse words.
The peasants lasted in their dunes,
Preserved in their aridity;
But the opulent old all went to mold--
No not the heat. Humidity.
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