In The Morgue Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

First cut is from the top
slice down the sternum
add side excursions
just above the breasts
to meet the pectorals.
Flip open and inspect,
the gross anatomy,
then search for fluids
in the cavities, and grab
the ladle and the jar
mark all containers
with the patient's name.
Observe and scrutinize
each nook and cranny,
all secret places, just as well
take sample slivers
from the liver and the spleen,
the lungs and all the rest.
Dissect the coronaries
inspect the valves,
and note all scarring
and lost patency for sure.
Then take from waiting hands
the saw for bony parts,
all stainless steel and shiny
then slowly, and with care
but sheer indifference
cut off the top so it will look
like soldiers' helmets do.
A delicate procedure
to separate the brain
from its so crowded home
and do present it, well intact
onto a plate, where it will sit,
to be first photographed
then weighed with all the rest
then probe the convolutions,
note vessels that may leak
and peel the great pituitary
with surgeon's fingers
from the bony seat,
the sella turcica.

It's all, as you might say
the work I do each day,
and nothing special,
just routine engulfed in formalin,
we make our jokes,
our laugh can chase the silence
and the ghosts away.

And now and then, I do
reflect, and really wonder
about the soul beyond the flesh
and whether life was good
and long enough for them.

It's when I stuff the rags
and paper towels,
and the local paper,
hospital notes and news
and rubber gloves
back into what had been
and not too long ago
a real human, just like me.
I sew him up and know
that all the dead would understand
the sense of humour
that I need to do it all.