There was a clatter, a curse then a stretched
heavy silence. My clenched fist released
and rested on the scratched black
of the interview room table top.
I leaned forward to repeat
that same indifferent tone that none
of us bought. For the tape,
Detective Inspector Pinkerton
has just fallen on his arse.
Behind the walls the laughter rattled
I’m sure I heard the dogs
howling their tails battering cages.
Despite the hell, the horror, etc.
It almost, always makes me smile,
his flat flailing feat and manicured
hands grasping nothing
broke my face
into the smile I thought I’d lost.
Fist published by WomenWords publishing