I visited the bed shop

the customer service lady showed a memory foam bed.

As I lay down the foam took me,

the most gentle grasp shaping around my prone body,

I lay as if in a body bowl.

When I arose the memory of me disappeared and I thought of the dead.

The dead, who died in hospital on foam mattresses covered in plastic.

We washed their soft skin,

Lifting limbs and wiping gently, taking off signs of life.

Silently we dressed them in a shroud,

the mattress kept its sense of shape long after the person departed,

storing the body story.