Ain'T Got a Clue
Who cut the curd cyanide cheese,
thinning out the rank suspect crowd?
Who gassed death in the air bleed,
releasing an odor murder most foul?
Follow the phew olfactory clues,
motive scented everywhere ghoul smell
Mrs. White was it your grey hairs ...
leaving a poison bottom bottle mist trail
spiraling down the Library stairs?
Professor Plum where did you
just Hallway fruity fungi come from?
The Observatory Room window was open,
but now it’s mysteriously been closed
Did you concoct this suffocating wrench plan,
and what’s with the cotton-stuffed nose?
Everybody here got the crimson royal flushed face,
that could only mean one candlestick thing —
Miss Scarlet’s been butt creeping around the place,
no doubt, looking for the hidden bling-bling
Still, who got the super bad mojo Bathroom bowels,
so flatulently criminal ... making eyes roll?
Who put Mr. Green’s intestinal aerosol-laced towels
in the Kitchen behind the snuff dish bowl?
What do those Clues tell you, Lady A.C. detective,
it’s a foul play odor-kill so Murder She Wrote
A farted-out farce, very nasal encore hard to sniff —
the last big reveal is an Insp. Clouseau note:
Colonel Mustard did it
with a gastronomical strangling choke
In the Guest Room
with a belly-loosened, vapor belt rope
Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2018
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