Dry Heat

Laura Lisianthus

The Dead Do Not Speak

The blood leaks across the floor

Cops poke, search, question more

All said it was the neighbour

A victim to five pounds flour

No one thinks to check the store

No one gathers, checks, the lore

The purpose to settle a score

Then its found, there’re four

More panic sinks into their core

These’re worse, nothing but gore

An entire family; immense war

A weapon! One very bloody oar

Another check, it’s not the boar

Grind out the clues, what a bore

They go open yet another door

Many scream a frustrated roar

Bodies, carcass, this they abhor

Nothing to be done, it’s a chore

The house cleaned of all yore

Autopsy done; they find spore

Poison they say but what a snore

No, no, it can not be so anymore

One last askance of its whore

Chased them off, told explore

They change tactics, ask why for

The answer comes, one they adore

It’s the neighbors, in uproar

He is found upon a long shore

Ask upon his reasons, seems poor

A shrug; ravens speak nevermore!

Table of Contents