Serilaity

The homeless witness
stands deep
in brick-red shadows.
Dark liquid-stains
cracked-black pavement,
one more justification
in the slight turn of his head.
The husband, finally,
in his workaholic-green,
in a single act of atonement
for a long list of excuses,
parks her anniversary-silver sedan
on the too-late side of the alley.
One fluorescent street lamp
flickers, finally, out
like the life of his wife’s body.
Long-waited hours,
spent standing by the door
end cold
like the voice on the other side
of the telephone receiver.
It took them three days
to find her body.
Plastic-wrapped waste
deep-brown dumpster,
a new blank page
in a detective’s note pad.
The husband slash suspect,
questions in a well-lit room,
sheet-white toe tags
and a nod of identification,
slow motion replay
on the walls of his cell.
Two concrete-blocks away
a killer touches her hand,
orders another Bloody Mary.
A psycho-white smile
on an ice-black soul,
another missing face
on the poster by the door.