The Only Witness


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.

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