poetry 2017 / 092

Almost Anonymous

Miss Scarlett

in the kitchen with the dagger.

Let's face it,

it would save so much time

except in my scenario Miss Scarlett

is not the killer but the victim,

and her name isn't Scarlett, is it?

You know who it is,

and I'd slip the blade horizontally

through your left armpit

until it pierced your cold, black heart

and even then you'd go on living,

your Facebook page a shrine

still posting horoscopes from the grave

along with Bejewelled requests

and chain memes:

'Ten places you loved and one you hated,'

and it still wouldn't include Hell

though no doubt you'd be running the place in weeks,

and being passive aggressive towards Satan

and yes, Julie, I do mean you.