Why Flesh Turns To Cheese [dr. Seuss Pastiche] Poem by Nick John Whittle

5 Stages of Human Decomposition in the tentrametic form of Dr. Seuss. A dialogue between father and son on the subject of death.

'What happens to us when we're dead and we're done? '
Asked a child who I knew from his being my son.
'Do I look just the same as I did at half two
'When I played Twinkle, Twinkle on my favourite kazoo? '

'My child, ' I said sadly, 'for the lad was quite young,
'What happens to us when we're dead and we're done,
'Is a story that's somewhat revolting in kind,
'A story that likely will play on your mind.'

'But if knowledge, ' I continued, 'is what makes you tick,
'And does not bring about a long spew of sick
'Then sit a bit closer and curl up your knees
'And I'll tell you the reasons why flesh turns to cheese.'

To begin at the beginning: you drop straight down dead;
Straight on your fat bottom or on your fat head.
It matters not really which way round you are;
You're dead meat, you see, and that's enough by far.

And once you're dead meat you'll turn up quite cold,
Your blood will stop moving and turn brown and old.
Your muscles will stiffen and your eyes will turn grey
And the coroner will declare, 'He's had it, I'd say.'

But here is not where your grand design ends;
No sir! Now is definitely wher e the BIG fun begins
When your enzymes start eating your liver and brain
‘Coz your liver and brain are where juices remain.

While deep down bacteria, both the good and the bad
Find out real quick that there're good things to have
And they eat your fat gut and they eat your fat tum
And then your fat limbs and then your fat bum.

'That sounds quite disgusting, ' I hear the boy say
'But, child, don't forget that today is the day
'When your person stops being a person, you see
'And instead becomes food for the ant and the tree.'

Which reminds me of something not talked about yet
That as soon you're dead and your skin is still wet
The flies and the bugs from around the whole town
Begin as they might to nibble your frown.

'That's so gross! ' comes a cry and a sulky glare,
'But this is the crux of the matter, my heir
'For without any bugs to feast on your bits
'The cycle of life would simply cease to exist.'

Now, the gasses that come from a hungry bacterium
Start to fill up your innards with undue delirium
And soon you will smell like a corpse bona fide
Like a mixed bag of methane and hydrogen sulfide.

With the smells and the swells and those hungry wee bugs
You're well on your way to becoming a ‘slug'
Who'll burst all of a sudden, without warning, in a blink
To reveal quite an unfathomable sight and a stink.

The fluids and tissues which splosh out and about
Will entice flies to maggots, of that there's no doubt.
You'd be unlucky, my boy, to find someone this dead
All sprawled out and yukky on grandma's old bed.

'I don't want to hear any more, ' says my lad
Who had turned a pale green and seemed a bit sad.
'But the worst part is over, ' I say with a smile
We can look to the future if you stay just a while.

'You see, everything nasty that came from the trunk -
'The soft bits of you - will be eaten and drunk
'And once all the animals' tummies are full,
'The only thing left is a skeleton and skull! '

'Well, that's food for thought, ' quipped my handsome lad
Who was pretending to be as tough as his dad,
'But, I don't want to die and be rotten too soon,
'So upon my kazoo I'll play us a tune.'