Slab Sonnet

What would the steel slab say if it could speak?

Would it complain of a smothering weight,

Draining fluids, dregs of muscles released?

Might the cold morgue drawer make it irate? 

Bearing the sound of crying, wailing, weeps,

Witness to a gathered vigil of late,

Fortunate that it has no need for sleep,

A vacuum for sadness, grief and pain.

And should the solace that follows bespeak

A peace both you and I anticipate,

Sponges, soap, brushes, bleach, quats, render sleek

The slab for which the next deceased awaits.

Though soon the slab's utility will wane,

Know that it wasn't disposed of in vain.