in the criminal justice system the people are represented ... these are their stories

a recounting in verse of what happened two nights after thanksgiving -

twas saturday after thanksgiving, when all through the house
only two cats were stirring, one stalking a mouse.
the doors were all locked, brinks system alarmed
in hopes that none of the residents would be harmed.

the visiting parents were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of peaceful sleep danced in their heads.
and kristin in her sweatpants and i in my shorts, had given up our bed – my aren’t we sports!

when several blocks away there arose such a clatter, four rapid fire gun shots through the silence did shatter.
jolted awake, our eyes open in a flash,
with bated breath, we waited for the parents to dash.

with a ring of the phone, we were summoned upstairs,
the mother recounting the crime, not a detail she spares.
she was straightening the bed, when the shots did ring out,
like flash to the window, she sprang, have no doubt.

by the light of the moon, she clearly could see,
a non-descript man with a gun held at three.
realizing her folly, she fell to the floor,
failing to notice if he walked through a door.

“now Sherlock! now Watson! now, doctor scarpetta!
on, poirot! on, sam spade!, on mrs. jessica fletcher!
to the sidewalk we go! To the scene of the crime!
grab your coat! bring the torch! the spent shells we must find!”

“now mother, the shots were afar, it’s the middle of night.
there’s nothing to find, you’ve had a real fright.
the police have been called, it’s their job to comb the streets.
let’s all just go back to bed, get you tucked in your sheets.”

and by morning, though the sun was shining bright,
the mother was focused on the events of the night.
we reasoned, and pleaded, but couldn’t unstick,
mother’s memory, of a crime by a non-descript prick.

as we gathered outside, standing by their car door,
our neighbor, passed by, on her way to the store.
when asked of the shots, she calmly replied,
“it didn’t happen near here, it was not on our side.”

with a quick turn, mother glanced at the sidewalk,
clearly hoping for spent shells and starting to balk .
kristin and i shared a quick look, it had became rather clear,
there shall be no more crime novels, for mother this year.

(thanks to ellen for the brilliant idea of coopting the classic poem and thanks to kristin for help with the verse, but most of all - thanks to my mother!!)