Whodunitt! ...A Muder Mystery Poem Poem by Shaun Cronick

Have you read his latest poem,
The one called Mass Murder's Taboo.
There's over 320 hideously dead.
And that's just half-way through.

He sold every reader a dummy,
Pulling us which way and that.
The way we've been manipulated,
Like subterfuge's dirty doormat.

For we never did see it coming,
After the lollipop man was slain.
We all thought he coldly did it,
When that bomb blew up that plane.

Then our money was on that priest,
Who so dearly loved to misbehave.
Going the way of the beauty queen,
Grisly discovered in a shallow grave.

It's obviously the singing nun,
Knives and guns hidden in her guitar.
But she was tied to the railway-line
Then neatly severed by that freight car.

Surely it must be those creepy twins,
Who collected those murder obituaries.
But the poison gas birthday present,
Left them both dead as mine canaries.

Then that most cliched old chestnut,
That tired adage of 'the butler did it'.
Somehow just didn't ring true when,
He was pushed in that scolding tar pit.

So, its got to be old man Smithers,
Who owns that Scooby Doo amusement park.
Then he was found at The Log Flume ride,
Weighed down six feet below its watermark.

We thought it was the hot-dog vendor,
But then he squeezed out the mustard.
Then he and his stand both exploded,
Terminally becoming as cold as custard.

The clues were so clearly obvious,
All simply staring us in the face.
When the poetry critics and spammers,
Were bricked up behind the bookcase

But I shall not tell you the ending,
That concludes my murderous dictation.
For it's always the one you least expect,
The one simply left to your imagination...