Voyeurs from beyond the Grave

by Larry Gaffney

IF departed souls live on a plane we can't see,
And they still take an interest in you and in me,
Then I'll bet they come into our bedroom at night,
To recapture their moments of earthly delight.

How creepy to think of dead friends and relations
Lined up to examine our carnal gyrations.
Why, there's Grandma and Grandpa, with walker and cane,
Standing next to the bed, their feeble necks craned.

The toe-freak you knew as your ol' Uncle Ed
Is floating—where else?—at the foot of the bed.
Our meek little neighbor who died in his sleep
Had porn in his room; now he's here to peep.

Sister Amelia, who taught me fourth grade,
Lived almost a century, never got laid,
Never held hands, was not even kissed,
Now she scowls from the ether to see what she missed.

I suppose that the afterlife gets pretty boring,
With hovering angels, and St. Peter snoring.
When spirits leave Heaven to see what's below,
We mustn't be bashful. Let's give 'em a show!

Originally published in Centrifugal Eye.

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