The Murder of John Dough
It was the trail of gingerbread crumbs
that led us to her. Her fingerprint
in the butter was obtained before
she could cream it with brown sugar,
when we broke down the door.
There were priors; a boy
had been in her oven once.
Witnesses said they chased the victim
across forest and ford until the air stank
like anise from the perspiration
off his pumping molasses legs.
Though he ran and ran, he was caught.
They are pleading pastry trafficking,
but we found his puckered cinnamon drop
mouth, and one of his frosted arms.
Our informant, sly fox, is as positive
of their guilt, as he would be of his own
if he found himself in a henhouse.
It was the trail of gingerbread crumbs
that led us to her. Her fingerprint
in the butter was obtained before
she could cream it with brown sugar,
when we broke down the door.
There were priors; a boy
had been in her oven once.
Witnesses said they chased the victim
across forest and ford until the air stank
like anise from the perspiration
off his pumping molasses legs.
Though he ran and ran, he was caught.
They are pleading pastry trafficking,
but we found his puckered cinnamon drop
mouth, and one of his frosted arms.
Our informant, sly fox, is as positive
of their guilt, as he would be of his own
if he found himself in a henhouse.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson