(i.m. Pablo Neruda)
There’s another corpse in the cupboard, darling.
Do you want to know who it is this time, dear?
Just call the Cleaners in first thing.
Probably yet another Syrian refugee, I fear.
No, I really think you should come and have a look.
Another homeless person, or someone who couldn’t pay the rent?
But you may not want to read this one’s Death Book.
Don’t tell me: suicide, anorexia, another journalist of discontent?
No, no. Nothing like that. In fact, don’t worry, sweetheart.
I’ll call in the Cleaners right now, they’ll be here in a second.
Death needs to be taken in hand, learn to pay his debt.
Such litter: all these bodies and stories of the poverty stricken.
In the name of keeping your own heart safe, please don’t open…
‘And here am I, budding among the ruins, with only sorrow to bite on.’