(Continues from Spiral)
It was just a fantasy spinning lies.
A paper cut tragedy’s unfolding
as I stared at a life watermarked by
death. His killer’s edged seduction was no fling.
The killer had carved an invitation,
letting the cops know he was far from done.
A flash of creamy paper unfolded and the knife the cop’s holding is caught in the crease. Where had I seen it and in whose hands? Why had my mysterious masters sent me here? I’d forgotten about the tribunal of ten and their condemnation. Decemvirates were all the rage in Roman times but not so in this modern era.
Was I a really old spook dead a whole lot longer than I had realized? Was I wandering around in Ceasar’s time? I doubted it. My English was too vernacular, and aside from cable’s vision of a Roman time where everyone spoke English, even I recalled from long ago lessons Roman spoke latin. So no, I was a recent haunt. Maybe I had met my end via yonder knife’s point.
The streetlights glinted off its wicked edge. Under my feet, the subway clattered passed vibrating the ground. If the higher ups wanted me to catch a killer, they were in for a disappointment.
The cop walked through me on his way to his cruiser, and I became tangled in his wake. He dragged me down the alley, and when he stashed the glassine pouch in his trunk, I fell in with it. His radio nattered on in numerical codes, but they meant nothing to me as he pulled into traffic. It looks like I’m going for a ride.
For OctPoWRiMo, 31 poems in 31 days–all part of one story. Watch me do it.
All 31 prompts are pictured below.
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