It was so difficult for them to believe that
So long ago, he’d truly killed her mother.
At least she knew he wasn’t a murderer.
The deed was beyond his control.
That was all that could comfort either of them
As each continued to live a separate life.
Ever since the deed, as all throughout their lives,
He dined on champagne and caviar
As she sat down to tea and toast.
All either could remember
Of the moment of truth Was the blurred image
Of a clown standing in the background.
They sat in awkward silence
As circumstances brought them together
For the first time in many years.
If only at least one could remember
And understand the exact details.
Maybe the clown, the only witness,
Could explain what really happened.
Unfortunately I haven’t written anything for this prompt in the past quite a while.