Sherwin Van Trugg

Consider the story of Sherwin Van Trugg
He spent days in the garden, observing the bugs
Their delicate feelers, the sheen of their wings
Their slick carapaces, he loved all these things

While most children vied with each other in sports
Or played tag, or Red Rover, and games of all sorts
Little Sherwin was happier out on his own
Watching dermestid beetles strip flesh from fox bones

And as Sherwin grew up, this, for him, did not change
He still loved creepy-crawlies; folks still found him strange
So he never made friends, and so nobody cried
When old Sherwin ultimately sort of died

But the shambling corpse-thing that Sherwin became
Was happy (if that’s the right word) all the same
‘Cause for job satisfaction, he just could not beat
Feeding maggots and blowflies his own rancid meat

Wear this shirt: anywhere the beautiful and the horrifying collide. Like for example Las Vegas.

Don’t wear this shirt: gardening or gravedigging. You’ll get it filthy.

This shirt tells the world: “Un-death is just a natural part of life.”

We call this color: Wight White

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