Who draws
those lines
at crime scenes?
The ones
with awkward strokes,
that trace
the final pose
of dear-departed
folks.
* * *
That job
must take
some training,
perhaps
a day-long class;
and then the test,
an outline,
done well,
but very fast.
* * *
Like when
we made those turkeys,
with crayons
deftly traced:
each finger
was a feather;
the thumb,
a bird-brained face.
* * *
da Vinci or Bellini
could never do
that work.
They’d likely add
flared nostrils,
beady eyes,
and other
quirks.
* * *
They’d try hard
to embellish
the scene
with artsy flare—
their outlines
stealing notice
from the victims
resting there.
* * *
I’d like
to make
those markings,
the angles
all askew,
of Bobs & Neds,
Eugenes & Teds,
But never one of you.
About the Creator
j.s.lamb
Retired journalist. Author of "Orange Socks & Other Colorful Tales," a collection of short stories about how I survived the U.S. Navy and kept my sense of humor. (Available on Amazon.)
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