Tonight's Poet Corner: Warner's Coroner

Warner's Coroner
by Belinda Roddie

Warner's coroner was a
foreigner, taking
snuff from a cardboard box,
chewing gum in between
sleeping spells. He drew
pictures on the coffins and tried
singing children to sleep when they were
already dead.

Warner's coroner was a
total bore, never much
fun at parties, even refraining from hitting
piñatas but still wearing the
blindfold while he drank
heavily and greedily from the
punch bowl.

Warner's coroner had a
disorder, a real need for
clean, steady breeding, babies over
sex, boys over girls,
but never paying much child support
while he stuck his head in a
barrel of tobacco and
breathed in lucky draws.
He dragged in Warner's body,
which had been shot twice in the head,
and read him a bedtime
story, even though the bastard was
twelve hours dead and had a rigor mortis
middle finger poking into the
may-as-well-be-dead-man's eye.