Bill 209, Funeral, Burial, and Cremation Services Act

The body was a bloated, rotten hue of sickly ivory
And a regurgitated greenish-blue.

Blotches of deep mauve having bloomed across rubbered skin,
From where the dull side of the fire poker had hit you.

It would cost extra,
The embalming, they said.
For the crimes were too severe,
The skull too deeply chipped and caved,
For what the regular rate would do.

There was no need,
I told them
Just needing to be rid of you.

The autopsy showed your swollen stomach
Where a scalpel had split it’s seam revealing
High doses of cyanide and the sickly sweet stench of judgmental views.

A self inflicted suicide,
As if there weren’t such a thing.
Minus the beatings and bleeding wounds.

Burn her down to embers,
I said.
‘Till the bone is exposed through liquid flesh,
And there is nothing left to do, but
Crush that deceitfully amiably frame with mortar and pestle.

No need to pour those deceitful lies in a crystal jar,
A baggie perhaps?
By the way,
Is there a dumpster out back?
No, no, no worries.
That will do just fine.

***

Kennedy Cast is a Canadian writer and horror fanatic currently enrolled in Sheridan College’s Creative Writing and Publishing Program. She enjoys long walks through cemeteries and can often be found in local bookstores progressively adding to her ever growing TBR pile. She can be found online at @ken_cast_ on instagram.