The Posthumous Poetry of William Thudworth St. John-Smith

Now I'm Dead

When the sun gave a wave to Mount Brydges
And did fly cross the bright firmament
I observed from the stand the Dominion Day band
Then was struck by a blunt instrument.

She was mad, the old woman who clubbed me
She who beat me to death with a harp
Thus I fell with a thud, my beard fulsome with blood
Just as dead as a castaway carp.

My old corpse has been placed on a gurney
All the gore washed away with a hose
'Neath the carcassman's gaze I've been waiting three days

Icy cold and bereft of my clothes. From the room in the back of the parlour
To the front of the church I do go
In a cheap wooden box with a hole in my socks
To make room for the tag on my toe.

Not-so-loved ones are gather'd around me
Weeping tears that they don't truly feel
They're just hanging around this deep hole in the ground
Hoping God will provide a free meal. It is late as I rot in my coffin

And I think of my family still
Mouthing words oh so crude as they find they've been screwed
By the blasted old man in his will.

Now I'm dead, clearly dead
I enjoyed the obit that I read
What the hey? I'll decay!
And the worms will be very well fed.

Composed in 1907.