Hearing Everyones Story
Char comes into my office with an angry face and stomping.
I know she is mad, for my throw pillow she is whomping.
I get her settle down, and we share a laugh or two.
If Mrs. McLead is around the corner, her ears are blue.
Ten seconds after Char is gone, McLead comes storming in.
There is a storm in her eyes, nasty in the set of her chin.
She gives me her side, and I listen without taking sides.
Adding nothing to the story that sounds nothing like Char Guides.
A third person enters in the afternoon and tells me what she saw.
Her accounting is as farfetched as the other two’s anger was so raw.
Now I understand why detectives are confused at every crime scene.
None of these tales resemble the one given to me by Jim Green.
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