Herbert Nehrlich (04 October 1943 / Germany)
A solitary piece of yogget
stuck to his shoes and that,
in itself, together with its odour,
it laid the groundwork to
and led to the undoing of
the one who had, without good reason,
gone 'round the neighbourhood,
at night and in the daylight,
to kill and maim, and then to burn
the bodies in a private ceremony.
It took but one detective, ready now
to take retirement tomorrow,
to scratch his silver stubbles,
inser his eye of glass,
(shot out by caliber HP-22)
and do some serious thinking.
He was the only one who knew about
not only yogget but the rest of it,
newfangled gadgets big as life.
The chief had intimated that there would
be a small bonus for the one and only
who solved the crime that could
and would, without a doubt, lead to
promotion as clear proof of his devotion.
And within days, they pulled it off the shelves,
this yogget. And I for one, I never did
find out the real meaning and the essence
of what that bloomin' yogget actually was.
Comments about this poem (Yogget by Herbert Nehrlich )
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