POETRY: HANGMAN’S HELPER BY PAUL TRISTRAM

“Doesn’t it get really depressing,

seeing and doing the same horrible

hanging thing day in and day out?

Mopping up other peoples shit and piss.

You must hear that gurgling,

strangling sound in your sleep.

If you do sleep?

And those faces, Jesus Christ!

I’ve heard they’re grotesque to look at

when you pull that head sack off.

Eyeballs dangling out and tongues

all purple, black, swollen and twisted,

gives me the heebie-jeebies

just thinking about what you see.

And those dead bodies are heavy,

no wonder your back and legs

are giving you so much gyp.

They’ll be knackered by your forties.

Mind you, the money’s not bad at all.

Well, better than Gravediggers get,

which is why I let you keep doing it.

But the smell on your clothes,

when you come home at night.

From all that ‘herby crap’ the Priest

burns and swings about the place,

I swear, it makes me want to heave.

And you only get Sunday mornings off.

I hardly see you in daylight anymore!”

‘I imagine that each and every one

of those poor demented souls

climbing up into the jaws of that noose

is you my dear, and it keeps me sane’.

He thought silently to himself.

Then started to snore expertly

before pretending to be useless and asleep.

Written by Paul Tristram