CAN’T THINK STRAIGHT STREET
by Colin James
Body found with a crushed skull,
then a falling off of sorts.
None of the usual brain signals remain,
nor keys to the probability ratio
devised by Professor Satit
and used by myself and others
for over thirty years, sometimes successfully.
An alleyway wide enough to drive a car through.
Death by provocation
satisfies the paperwork commiserate computer.
It doesn’t have to fit the crime.
Family, we can look into.
Motive is an artificial word
dragging the dutiful down
after suggesting such lift.
Time of death is incidental
considering anytime after sixty
it is quite likely to occur.
The body bears the scars
of a well lived life.
Albeit, getting a bit puffy
around the wherewithal.
There were no possessions at the time of demise
because the event transpired on
a public pathway in an area
known to be frequented by undesirables.
Actual ownership shall be considered ambiguous.
A small bottle broken, possibly contains
perfume or swell smelling drugs,
has been confiscated and sent back to
the Lab for mislabeling.
Any evidence such as fingerprints
or DNA will be placed roughly
in the vicinity of the correct storage locker.
I don’t seem to remember this person
and I am on nodding terms with most
of the local artist types, especially
when called on to view the new.
A disposal unit is on it’s way
and I look forward to outlining the corpse
before shipping it off to the morgue.
This is always my favorite time,
chalk in hand yearning to embellish.