Dear Mr Undertaker
you might not remember my name
despite what the stone says
you might have coaxed the ghost of a smile
from my pale and dead face
but unfortunately i wish to complain:
this mahogany casket
is filled with maggots
I cannot escape from.
There isn't enough space
to move my limbs
and my whole body is stiff.
My neighbour is crazy
and keeps calling the names
of her fifty cats.
It stinks in here
the food is awful
and the phone reception is lousy.
Is it too late to get an exchange?
I would like a cremation
the receipt is in my pocket.