She said she wanted to go
there. The Dissection Room
at Newcastle Med School.
So I pulled some strings,
and read her the rules.
“Sensible shoes?” she said.
“Yes Mother. Plus clothes
you don’t mind ruined.
Fixers, they don’t wash out.
The smell will get you,
but not of death.
More chemicals
like wax and rubber.”
But my mother, being my mother
didn’t seem to mind.
Walked right up to the
plastic head,
and stuck her hand inside.
“You won’t even know
I’m here,” she said.
Pulled on a dark-blue
lab coat. Then I set up
as I normally would;
with my mother
by my side.
She watched closely
as I unzipped the body bag.
Revealed cavities and cages.
Stood on tiptoes
to peer inside.
Never missed a beat.
So I placed a stool
three feet away;
her territory and mine.
When the students filed in
they looked at her,
the older woman
with colorful shoes.
Ignoring me completely.
So I coughed,
then talked too loudly
about a topic I knew so well.
My words underlined
with scribbling.
She used every trick in the book.
So I quizzed the students
and she daubed her paints,
and at the end they
crowded round her.
Admired her line
and brave use of color,
whilst I put all the organs back.
As the students left,
she called out to them.
“Call me Poppy,” she said.
They waved from the door.
“Weren’t they interesting?
What a wonderful body.
All those nooks and crannies.”
I slung the heart
in a plastic bag.
Looked at my watch before
herding her out.
“You need to go now.”
I said, disrobing her.
“Yes dear,” she said, then,
“Thank you.”
And as we went to the door,
she turned round and said,
“Shall we say the same time next week?”
