1.
First the canary died, and then the light.
There was no heat, but it was June, okay?
He didn't need hot water any day,
but Mrs Hornet fetched the severed head
UPS had delivered overnight:
Then Rex believe coincidence was dead;
and he thought deeply and went back to bed.
When he was roused, he put that scum away,
In theory. Still, he knew just who had done it.
He took some DNA and made them run it.
The lights resumed. The boiler flamed. (The bird,
Too bad.) He thought that he might buy a hound
To save the villeins who had gone to ground,
Who’d share his common cause without a word.
2.
The type was set in Baskerville, the hair
A blonde’s – Cinnamon Smoke. He knew his stuff.
The ash a Turkish pre-war brand of snuff,
Now unobtainable, from God knows where.
His trenchcoat buckled, Rex went out to share
Info with the outwitted perp. Enough.
Dim Sum, the sign. So many are undone,
So few for whom a sleuth will do the trick.
Some muscle, maybe, or some patter, slick
As Wildroot Cream Oil. Never, though, the one,
The permanent moll, the sempiternal pick.
Rex pats his pocket; there the trusty gun
Mollifies the most strident of the senses--
A picayune per diem. Plus expenses.
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