It Was In Self-Defense, I'm Quite Sure Poem by Mark Heathcote

In his defence it was said, she would curiously
Spy from the bay windows, like
A latter-day Misses Marple
Everyone was a suspect, every parcel
Became a crime of illicit passion
This then would be attached to fit a plot
A plot to a perfect crime, day after day
She'd elaborate on her latest new theory.
Protagonist to all that went on
With these ever-increasing, conspiracies
Webbed out from door to neighbouring door
Shed' relayed her latest new theories
Till he/her husband could take no more!
So he killed her, My Honor, the Jury
With a Draylon curtain tieback;
It was in self-defence, I'm quite sure.