The Moya View

Knives Out


Let the black dogs run wild,

sharpen the knives for

some real back stabbing,

roundup the usual suspects,

the mystery is about to begin.

The cardigan teen with

his nose buried in his iPhone-

he’s a suspect- murderous thoughts

sprouting his blood-brain barrier.

The neglected son tethered

to a high ranking, paying

position in the family business

with nothing burdens-

he’s a suspect too.

Eight others are robbing

Peter to pay Paul

to pay Mary to pay Martha

to pay the extorting genomes,

on the verge of being exposed,

all dangling near disinheritance.

The old codger with the money

whose always leaving clean knives out,

knowing they will forever thirst

for meat and blood, the thrust

that will do the work for him,

the job his lawyers failed to do

until the whole dirty gang

finds him splayed on the calico rug,

a Chuka Bocho clever in his stomach,

a Wusthof stuck in a vertebrae-

well, he was a prime suspect,

but now, obviously he is not.

Patricide is not always a family crime.

Point the finger at the mother,

daughter, sister, son, brother

but also the heart, soul, brain

of all others inflicted with hate

that makes everyone suspects too.





One response to “Knives Out”

  1. carolineshank Avatar

    Wow. Another intense, even super intense poem. I think I may have to see the movie to fully grasp this. (Check ‘whose” for ” who”. But brilliant as always

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