It was in self-defense, I'm quite sure
In his defense it was said, she would curiously
Spy from the bay windows, like
A latter-day Misses Marple
Everyone was a suspect, every parcel
Became a crime of illicit passion…
This then would be attached to fit a plot
A plot to a perfect crime, day after day
She'd elaborate on her latest new theory.
Protagonist to all that went on…
With these ever increasing, conspiracies
Webbed out from door to neighboring door
Shed' relayed her latest new theories…
Till he her husband, couldn't take no-more!
So he killed her, My Honor, the Jury…
With a Draylon curtain tieback;
It was in self-defense, I'm quite sure.
poem by Mark Heathcote
Added by Poetry Lover
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