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Rated: E · Poetry · Fantasy · #1945278
poem written about a criminal
CRIMINAL MIND’S LAST CASE
              “RATTLESNAKE STEW”



Flow moved away to the heart of the west.
Back home she came to give her body some rest.
Back east was her dream, a roller derby queen.
Flow stood six foot one and weighed two fifteen.
A mile marker sign brought a smile to her face.
In just one half an hour she’d be back in her place.
She sautéed out and off of that old Greyhound bus,
stepped in front of two guys that started to cuss.
Flo turned around quickly and shot them a glance.
She laid the smack down before they had a chance.
“That’s no way to talk in front of a lady.”
“Let me be blunt.” She said to the runt,
while he sat crying in the dirt.
“Let this be your wakeup,
just because I wear no makeup.
Please be respectful to the skirt.
The other man was shaking,
His entire body was aching,
To show approval he just nodded his head.
The next morning before dawn the two guys were found dead.
Drunk and disorder the body’s laced with cocaine.
The sheriff filled out the paperwork with no one to blame.
Next door to the station was this out of touch place.
Mr. Burger’s restaurant he had a God awful face.
A grease fire ignited some years long ago.
That lit up his body with a devilish glow.
He served hot tasty meals and no one complained.
From that day to this he has faithfully remained.
A sign in the store window said “Were ready to hire.”
Flo took it down and asked him to back away from the fire.
She looked at the man, “I need me a pop.
From now on you handle the broom and the mop.”
He wobbled his head, she continued with delight.
“I’ll open at five and close up at midnight.
The old man did the shopping, that was the plan
Flo stayed in the kitchen with her skillet frying pan.
She served West Texas Chili, and rattlesnake stew.
Always leave a tip, friendly advice sent to you.
Oh by the way I add only one tiny thought more.
When you’re ready to leave, ring the bell by the door.
This building got crowded from sunrise to sunset.
A trucker’s paradise, which no one could forget.
Nobody got rowdy no one stepped out of line.
Even, after they started serving West Texas wine.
One night there was magic at a little after one.
Three guys stayed around looking for fun.
Flo said to the three amigos “You don’t understand.”
They started swinging; she held the pan in her hand.
They did not know what had hit them, she was that quick.
Now they are toasting in the hot sun, held down by a brick.
Their bodies never found they just turned into dust.
The truck that they rode in on is just a pile of rust.
In a matter of six months, eight more men lost their breath.
This once quiet town was now called the city of death.
The state called the feds and they sent out a crew.
The sheriff was pleasant however he had not a clue.
“BAU” ate at the diner, a few questioned Flo.
She looked at the photos but she didn’t know.
Talk about town laid name to the seven.
Angels of mercy sent here from heaven.
They talked to the masses, they retraced every action.
They remained here confused, they had no reaction.
As long as they stayed inside their hotel,
This town remained quiet and no living hell.
When the temperature hovered at one hundred and ten,
For the tenth day in a row it was decided right then.
This case would go unsolved there was no one at fault.
This became a lesson in life worth a ton load of salt.
Back on their plane they were heading for relief.
The seven little souls all sat in disbelief.
One day brought the rain, and the rain stayed steady.
Flo told Mr. Burger her time was at ready.
She had stayed long enough, her body renewed.
Her heart and her soul were totally reglued.
“Where are you going?” Mr. Burger did ask.
Flo said with a smile “I have renewed my task.”
“Mutual respect, no matter the age,
Will get you through life and help turn a page.”
She closed the front door and turned with a wave.
Mr. Burger stood in silence he tried to be brave.
When he knew Flo was clean out of sight,
He started to cry and he cried through the night.


Just as the seven were going over their reports,
Dr. Reed let out one of his little silly snorts.
“I have it!” he said, but got little relief.
Penelope asked, “Well tell us good grief.”
“Mr. Burger and Flo were father and daughter.
Injustice to life has led them to slaughter.”

Puzzled dead reader? Well let me explain.
It will all come clear with my last little refrain.

In the morning I awoke, and started to mop.
The blood stained floor where the body did drop.
Into the desert to the deep rattlesnake pit,
Two out and one in, then I coughed and I spit.
Today’s lunch menu will be rattlesnake stew.
By four PM the pot will be empty, how about you?

                                       THE END
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1945278