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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “Roman Remains” Down in the Dirt, v187 (the September 2021 Issue) Order the paperback book:

Order this writing that appears in the one-of-a-kind anthology Stardust in Hand the Down in the Dirt Sept.-Dec. 2021 issues collection book		get the 422 page Sept.-Dec. 2021 Down in the Dirt 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

autopsy guy

Shaun Loh

That noon I got murdered, I could hear
your disdain towards your dumb intern:
how the Acid Phosphatase Test must
be immediate to check for semen.
How blood spatter must be analysed
in millimetre exactitude,
not dismissive passive/aggressive
dichotomies. How the geography
of hickeys around my neck should be
sympathised beside strangulation.

Did you not laugh at that modelling
show for making “skinny bitches” pose
as victims? Didn’t you ask me how
those girls and Tyra Banks could rob the
dignity of death for the sake of
glamor? Why am I still here, only
immortal organs my glare at you,
my earshot of your annoying voice?
Can you stop yakking to your intern
and shove me in some tent? The tiles are sharp.

I had hoped you could see, from my dead
eyes, that I wanted you to touch my
body — not Mariah Carey style —
just feel how he made my veins so stale,
teguments pale. Contaminate my
crime scene and my corpse with your raw wrists.
Stamp your DNA, trap airtight
my legacy in the metonymy
of his weapon, my final blunder.

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