noir scene
She came in out of the cold with a hungry look.
She’d been hunting a bird - the stuff dreams are made of,
with a rich coat of bourbon honey, like newly applied lipstick.
The bird that turned up, a butterball, was in fact murdered.
The signs were all there - decapitation - done by a pro --
ligatures and the corpse was stuffed, like a defendant's bad alibi.
The whole holiday was a crime scene, but there was a gravy, dark as a back alley deal,
to obscure forensics, and while the witnesses all talked of blessings - like a cult -
there were knives everywhere.
Motives abounded, like place settings - was that cranberry sauce - or blood? The room had a rich smell - roasted bird, dressing and complicity.
The way everything was being passed around - there was nothing for it.
Someone was going to take the fall - not her - she wasn’t having white meat. She was hard-boiled and had had it dark - and you know what they say.
In the end, she got what she was looking for - she almost always did. And it tasted like apple-cider-bourbon and family togetherness - her favorite flavors.
.
.
A playlist for this:
daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_19.mp3
=] Happy Thanksgiving Everyone! =]
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
