A wave of heat rises, undulating the street
On which rises the mansion of deception, lies and greed
Why may that be worthy of our attention now
An ode to pulp fiction this is, that’s how
As the moon waxes, a mouse with a fidgety snout
Explores for treasure, treading with doubt
In the kitchen, a pot of soup boils to the brim
A family gathers around for supper, stiff and prim
They say grace and exchange pleasantries
Over stew, turnips, turkey and other savories
The night sky likens to the dried ink on little Sue’s essay
The men puff cigars, to the parlor the ladies sashay
Derby bets and stocks and bonds make the din of the chatter
A sole nimbus cries, rain drops fall pitter patter
Shrieking with joy, little Sue and cousin Boo rush into the house
Drowning the last sighs of two souls, one them a mouse
In the attic, by the shattered window pane
In the dark, dusty shadows there lay slain
The very mouse that had run amok
But that’s not the murder of which we talk
An act of sinister unfolds on another floor
Many flights above, a maid steps through the attic door
As the clock strikes another hour of a game of cards
She cries at the vision among the glassy shards
For that was Winky, her pet so sweet
Now there it was lifeless and limp, like a piece of meat
But while, for her dear departed companion she wept
The attic floor awash with dirt must be cleaned and swept
So she bawled and scrubbed the floor of hard wood
“No more s’mores dear Sue, it is no good”,
Said Jen, her mother, elegant in a dress of teal and white
As the poor maid came down and saw another terrible sight
The mistress, an old maid, not the kind who clean and labor
Was found by the other, who was now in a stupor
A shriek that never left her quivering mouth
Brought the rest of the family out and about
“It is too sudden”, said Joey, the eldest nephew, twice removed
Even though her face had been, for so long, lined and grooved
“She had just settled on the porch in her favored nook”
And now her frail neck was twisted, eyes off her book
Uncle Bill bellowed, “Yes Joe boy, I agree with you
For I smell foul play in this affair too”
A semi-retired detective, he was man of wit and skill
Also the keeper of old and now dead Tammy’s will
Wealthy, powerful and pretty she had been all her life
But no nice fellow took Tammy to be his wife
For it was her bitter, conniving manner towards all
That kept her circle of allies awfully small
And those who stood by her were leeches and crooks
People of social standing but dangling morals by the hooks
All of them now on and around the porch, beside the deceased
Each trying to look sad and shaken, though they felt pleased
“Murder! Murder!” screamed the tabloids and headlines
The wealthy witch’s death covered and parodied many times
The tale of intrigue and mal-intent entertained the bourgeoisie
While Tammy’s heirs silently thanked their unknown angel of mercy
For a year or so the investigators interrogated them all
“They all are suspects, the stinking parasites” said officer Kroll,
Rather contemptuously, “They all stand to amass a fortune”
But none seemed bothered by his ceaseless importune
Perfect alibis they had, no incriminating weapon ever found
Everybody got a share of the wealth, split down to the last pound
The legends of family deceit and the elusive malefactor continue
The beneficiaries know not who made their wishes come true
Happily ever after for all but the pale, frightened, no more little Sue
Never the same for she could never tell the truth, her only rue
Had it not been the baseball that she and Boo hit that balmy night
That is not how their dear Tammy would have died
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