Baby in a Box

by Slim Volumes

A Blue,
come down from the attic,
-something you should see.

Lieutenant's thick knuckles
cease stirring silk and satin
round the dresser drawer
and slide shut his probe
into suspect dainties
to follow up steepturn steps.

A beige board suitcase,
clasped and thickly belted
through the handle.
-was over there,
the Blue nodding at dragscrapes
through floorboard dust.
-thought you'd wanta open it.

Lieutenant
pushes back his fedora,
releases the buckle pin
from its hole.
Simultaneously
thumbs out the clasp buttons.
-locked.
He sends the Blue to the cellar
for a pry.

We each
flame a smoke
and wait
in
our
own
empty
cartoon
cloud.

Lieutenant crosslegged on the floor,
the lid back:
concrete,
concrete and rotting meat,
bone,
a miniature body,
laid inside,
cement poured,
grip closed, locked,
and belted.
Baby in a box
with a handle handy
to make behave.

The Blue spits for attention,
-she's a monster,
done this.
Lieutenant:
-yes, a monster,
better that
he pulls his hat down,
-than someone
with a motive.

-----------------------------------------