He sniggered <br />at the brutal murder. <br /> <br />Could see it coming. <br /> <br />He was not a detective superintendent <br />...for nothing. <br /> <br />He watched the murderer <br />escape <br /> <br />And did nothing other than <br />make another cup of coca. <br /> <br />It was a bitter frost. <br /> <br />He wrote the name of his dead wife <br />absentmindedly on the glass <br /> <br />as the kettle <br />steamed up the kitchen. <br /> <br />The “On” switch <br />wouldn’t turn “Off.” <br /> <br />Ten years now <br />and he could still hear <br /> <br />her laughter <br />everywhere. <br /> <br />He always enjoyed <br />A TOUCH OF FROST. <br /> <br />He and the lads <br />would discuss it the next day <br /> <br />down at the station <br /> <br />as if it were a case <br />they had been working on. <br /> <br />Didn’t care for MORSE. <br />Loved David Jason <br /> <br />and Frost’s interactions <br />with Mullet. <br /> <br />As usual <br />real life intruded <br /> <br />even though <br />this was Christmas. <br /> <br />“Villians! ” <br />(as he still called them) <br /> <br />didn’t stop for the season of good will. <br /> <br />The phone rang <br />his knuckles white holding it. <br /> <br />“Yes...yes! ” <br />he told it <br /> <br />leaving the steaming cup <br />of coca un-drunk <br /> <br />on the Formica topped <br />table.<br /><br />Dónall Dempsey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/let-nothing-you-dismay/
