The man exclaims, 'It was by mere chance that I was in the parking lot when the man died, with the murder weapon in my hand. No sir I had o idea how he died. I just picked up the tire iron to check the pressure on my cars tires. I always used this tire iron. For I've always used the one from the parking garage to check my tires.'
the officier spoke sternly in a serious tone, 'that tire iron is not the weapon that killed this man.'
The man questioned in a state of confusion, 'Then what did? '
The officier was angry now. He screamed, 'you did after you smacked him with the tire iron. You ran over him 6 times.'
The man exclaimed, 'but that's not even my car. That's my wife. Mines the one next to it. I'm being framed I swear.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem