Jack in the box

She said she had something to show me
Something so hidden and rare
That if I should just take a peep at it
A streak of grey shock should enter my hair

I waited in anticipation, of what she might reveal
And from a hidden place she brought out a box
Old as from a wartime appeal

She laid it there on the table, the clock on the wall
It struck ten
And as I opened it to inspect the contents
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end

For what it revealed was ghostly
A remnant of a man long past
Hidden in the depths of the forests of time
No signature sign of a cast

The pieces of skull had been glued
Fixed together, each like a puzzle
But as I lifted it out the box it shewed
That the man was missing his muzzle

His lower jaw was in pieces,
But sure his occiptal holes
Still looked out at the world in its creases
Like time had wrinkled his soul

I held up my friend Yorick
But found not the words nor the ways
To express what it felt
To be given such a jolt
To my mortality on this special day

Death it wears many masks
Some are taken on roads, some on tasks
Some in the beds while in their sleep
How did this fellow meet his grim reap?

Should I be holding the skull
Of one who lived long ago
What was once trapped within
These airy caverns?
What experiences had these holes seen?
What graveyards or taverns
Had become his friends
And how did he meet his end?

Four score years of life and love
fifty perhaps there of marriage
How did he feel at the touch of a glove
How did he hold his carriage

Was he stooped or upright
Was gregarious or aloof
Did he always win at cards
Was he chasing down proof?

Was there a meaning to his life at all?
How can you tell he was six feet tall?
He could have been a dwarf
He could have had one leg
Lost it in the Caribbean
While drinking a Rum dreg

He could have been a bank clerk
With an uneventful life
He could have earned a million
He could have killed his wife

There really could have been
A thousand and one possibilities
But now he is being held by me

Should I give him back
The death sleep he may have wished for
Does it matter where his body is
Or whether it was fished for

Was his grave robbed
Or did he donate his brain to science
Did they try to find the seat of his consciousness
Or did they dig out his soul all in good conscience?

Should I put him back in the box
Before I lose all control
And drop his fragile skull
On to this cold stone floor
Where is the museum label?
Will his name be
Anonymous forever more?