Crime Fiction Fan

On the page she strides boldly

through gore, spattered, flung

arms dramatic, brain sharpishly screwed on.

No suspect is spared, no plotline too raw,

she ventures where others gasp, look away.

And she knows at least sixty ways

to dispose of a lover.

 

Yet the glimpse of a needle

makes her gibber to nurses.

She watches crime on TV through

chinked fingers and wine,

she dithers at shadows, jumps at

rustles in the road. A floorboard

creaking in the night sends her diving.

 

Scurry, scurry, little paws,

the horror of that nib on paper!

 

 

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