A Final Tattoo Poem by Robin Bennett

That doctor always talking to his
dead patients, lying naked and
quiet on a metal bed.
A tell tale "Y" shaped scar marks
each one. A bloody letter sewn
tight with black thread. One last
final tattoo into a club that everyone
is dying to join.

Young, old, night or day makes no
never mind to good ole doc here.
It's business as usual, "we never close."
Bad guys and cancer never go on
strike or take a holiday either.
The victims finally find peace and quiet
here in the morgue.