Poem © 1997 Peggy Wysong
Cadaver, cadaver, what is thy name?
Were you just no-name, or sparkled with fame?
They cut off your fingers, and toes, and your head—
All we can tell is you’re really quite dead.
Hunger pangs drove the team for a snack
To a hamburger stand that lay in the back.
One of the team had a horrible thought
And DNA-tested the burger he’d bought.
They arrested the owner and put him in jail
Soon joined by the team, so wan and so pale.
They’d eaten the evidence, right on the spot—
“Obstructing justice,” the judge said, “That’s what!”