The charge was murder;
Death by Nine Iron in the
Ever-green yards of
Admiral's Terrace Club-
Tee for a light fee.
Elaine Helmherst lay
Half in the rose bush
Clumps of dirt on her
Off white- cream- pleated
skirt, recently pressed by
Patel and Sons for
Pickup at Eleven.
An eerie breeze brushed
The leafy maples in
Shades of Autumn, shading gray
The holes the carts the
Tar pathway
Golfers strolling back
In the setting oranges, light sweat,
Jogging as they reached
The Club and the
Autumn-yellow police tape.
Denise Valentine,
Drenched in consternation
Leaned over Elaine, frowned.
Her listen-to-me brown boot heels
Sank a bit in the moist ground
Left a double tooth mark circle
Around the body. The nine iron
(determined by the wound)-
Missing.
Chill air warned of a heavy implement
Out there, somewhere- contrived as a
Place not meant to be discovered-
Foreboding, disturbing.
The cool breeze brushed Denise
But Denise did not stir
Only squinted into the sun,
Turned her head, said,
“Gather everyone from the greens
And lockdown the Club. Tonight
Will be tedious and illuminating.”
“I'll make coffee” said Mrs. Porter,
White as an eighty-year-old woman
Wrinkly and wry
The Admiral's wife and a believer
In taking it all in stride.
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