The Corpse

Walking nature's park today, no awkward plans to bar my way;
Instead of turning went straight on in silent quest, what lies beyond
The things that one expects to see? Perhaps behind a gnarled tree
I might discover cache of gold, as just reward for being bold.

Perhaps even surprise or two would dare to enter into view.
What other reason I presume, to alter course this afternoon?
Could there be some evidence? Could quest yet offer recompense?
Furtive branches yet disclose a headless body, leg-less toes?

Then I saw it, outstretched limb, strangely pointing back at him
As though in death to indicate some hidden cause of tragic fate.
What strange circumstance unknown attended on this mouldy bone?
Surely business for the law, to ask around of ones who saw.

I pondered, silent, frozen, still; must I then act against my will
To notify the coroner before all traces fade to blur?
Investigation's bound to show that head received the fatal blow
As it was severed nearly off, as though in last unseemly cough.

The corpse was lying facing down as though to hide one final frown.
Could last display of modesty yet intercede in what's to be?
Perhaps forestall the telling blow. A plea for mercy? Who's to know
What panic had betrayed the mind when only terror stalks behind?

Bones picked clean, the problem who could be the owner; well to do?
Perhaps some vagrant low on luck, victim of a speeding truck?
Who'd crawled behind this mossy fence to thus conceal all evidence
Of crime so hideous and cold this unfit world should not be told.

No murder weapon lying near, to justify that missing ear.
No patch of clothing, not a trace was left behind to mark the place.
Forensics almost sure to find --- (there's always something left behind)
By those who seek to hide or flee, a hank of hair? a bloody tree?

Legs outspread, the bones obscene, a blight on nature's carpet green,
And all the signs were there to say (including those that showed decay)
That this had been untimely death, (the corpse was clearly out of breath)
Its limbs distorted, not by chance, its life had fled in ghastly dance!

Daisy, ever nosing 'round was quite aghast at what she'd found.
Clearly there had been foul play, unseen witnesses could say
That life was ended in a fight; strange things happen late at night.
The bones? Abandoned? Vacant stare? The last remains of uplands hare.

Grandy, Victoria Jan./96 (c)

This page is made up of contributions from Mac McLennan, one of my buddies from YT Mag's Tractor Tales
discussion board. Mac was gracious to offer his work, and I appreciate the opportunity to present it here.

Comments? Suggestions? Send me an email.

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