Poem 62 – The Morning After

There is no cordon around the house to warn
Nor grim faced officer to bar our way
But on the inside awaits a grisly scene
Come in and see the evidence arrayed

This is the room where the events transpired
Remains of celebrations on the floor
The shredded tatters form outlines around
The places where their bodies sat that morn

Now see upon the table evidence
Identified and ready to photograph
Betraying crumbs a trail perhaps to follow
Wine glasses marked by lips that last night laughed

Then out the back you’ll find their bins all full
Of waste unwanted, clues of what has been
And deep within the usual trash concealed
A cold carcass, discarded, bones picked clean

Back in again to question the witness
Who yawning talks us through the scene at hand
Identifying gifts and turkey bones
Such evidence echoed across the land

The morning after Christmas you could work out from the wreckage where everyone sat to open their gifts, reminding me of the white outlines marking where the body laid in police dramas…

© Ben Quant 2021

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