F. Inge Faust
East Orange, New Jersey, United States

Poet’s statement: This poem expresses my feelings and impression of an autopsy report I witnessed. This autopsy was performed on a 63-year-old man that was admitted and died within 24 hours. The remains of this man and the story they told . . . that is how I know him.

The Autopsy
Like a Dali painting from long ago
Or a phantasmagoric story by Edgar Poe
An anxiety inside me has begun to grow
That will return forever—I surely know. Spread before me is an eye-catching scene:
An Asian man not too tall but quite lean.
He wears a gown that’s so sparkling clean
And rubber gloves of the darkest green. He stands behind such a table grand
Around which residents push to stand
All talking in a quite noisy way, and
Turn silent as he raises his gloved hand. Anticipation begins to rapidly grow
As he poises to speak with a very low
Voice that all ears strain to hear, to know
The wisdom that now will begin to flow. Before him dried organs are laying spread
Arranged in correct order from torso to head
They’re not made of plastic—I fear and dread—
But from a genuine human cadaver instead. He holds up the aorta and declares, “It’s OK.”
One resident says, “But it looks so gray.”
He responds, “It’s the fixation fluid’s way;
Besides it’s been removed since many a day.” “The lymphatic nodes show gross necrosis
And the heart’s coronaries atherosclerosis.
The large intestine reveals much fibrosis
But the liver and spleen are free of cirrhosis.” We see the mesenteries appear deranged—
“Note! How they’ve had a cancerous change.”
The lungs . . . they’re also quite strange—
“Metastasis has much shrunk their range.” He held up a kidney in his right hand,
“Pyelonephritis has caused this black band.”
Urosepsis and tumors have taken their stand
And hastened a death that was unplanned. “Now look, and note this singular prostate,
The main cause of this man’s most ill fate.”
It quite resembles a shriveled-up date:
This poor man was diagnosed much too late. The pathologist took off his gloves and gown
And left the room with all standing around.
For quite a while there was not even a sound,
Then everyone left for his clinical round. Is this how I’ll appear some frightful day—
From liver to spleen atop table or tray?
My organs all withered and arranged in some way—
I shall never consent to be on such a display!