Murder

A poem.

I found the bodies
you left me.

Buried them
behind the garage 
with the others.

One, still alive, 
got away. 

I watched them pull
their broken body
over the back wall.

I let them go
knowing
they'd not get far. 

How many is it now?
How much blood 
have you spilled
at my altar?

All for tummy rubs 
and belly scritches
on the couch
as we watch 
University Challenge
followed by the news:

“14 dead, 12 missing, no leads.
Investigation continues...”

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