Jakobe Mansztajn

the clue in the sentence is the corpse. so real,
so deep inside. we are the privileged ones,
we can look it over, lend it an ear, poke at it
and conclude: ho ho his death out of breath,

no hammering heard, and only the lingering
echo on the ward, the duty nurse pushing linen
left behind the dead on a trolley, death stained
bedding and that echo hanging around like stink.

the corpse was right, they leave nothing behind -
a brilliantly white sheet, enough to sting the eyes,
they clear the fruit off the bedside cupboard,
its insides emptied, the body hidden in shame.

once more they will glance at the empty bed,
this time thinking more fondly of the corpse,
and a tear will form – heavy, rather clumsy,
and together they'll weep over the grand order