The Corpse’s Revenge

Deceased, Departed and Dead Angry

Inspired by You’re Cold As Ice by Harper Thorpe whose hero Sam explains his love ’em and kill ’em philandering ways.

Harper’s poem was inspired by Yule Be Sorry by Laura Sheridan in which Sam’s partner finds out about his cheating and drowns herself, and his Jaguar, in the lake.

My poem is from the perspective of Wend, a one night stand of Sam’s.

It’s Wendy here folks, I’m back from the dead, To mess with your prose and f*** with your head.

I think it’s unfair that a fling with a geezer, Should end up with me being dead in the freezer.

From memory, he wasn’t much good in the sack, He promised me love, so I gave it a crack.

But it all went tits up when I found he was married, I should have guessed sooner. He always looked harried.

“What’s your game, mate?” I said with a cry, His fist shot out quickly, straight into my eye.

I stumbled and fell, confused and befuddled, “You’re just a quick fling, in case you are muddled.”

He said as he landed his boot in my face, It hurt like a bastard, but I lay there with grace.

The dreadful truth dawned, he still loved his wife, For a f*** and a dinner, I’ve just risked my life.

Sam knocked me out cold and dragged me to lie, Right next to the bins in the shed, so I’d die.

But when I passed over, I found me some mates, Six blondes and a redhead, outside pearly gates.

“I’m not going in, ’til that bastard’s dead.” Said a lady, an ice-pick stuck firm in her head.

“Nor me,” said another, “He needs a bad end.” I sensed kindred spirits, “Hello, my name’s Wend.”

I hugged them all kindly, the group at the gate, So angry and bitter, consumed by their hate.

“I’ve got a plan ladies, let’s drive that Sam crazy, ’Til he drops down with fright, by the Michaelmas Daisy.”

So that’s what we did, we tormented that man, By wailing and howling, we chopped his life span.

We popped out of his fridge and bewitched his closet, At the bank, we jumped out at every deposit.

Not one hour passed without a good haunting, Fleur made a roster, a task that was daunting.

At last, he dropped dead in the garden as planned, The next twenty days, the newbies we scanned.

But Sam wasn’t there, downstairs, we supposed, Being toasted like kindling from head to gross toes.

Let this be a lesson, to those that would cheat, We women are brilliant, too clever to beat.

Sam lied, and he cheated. He murdered as well. But we’re safe in heaven, while he burns in hell.