McArb

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
First of a series of tongue-in-cheek poems about a serial killer named "McArb".

Submitted: February 13, 2010

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Submitted: February 13, 2010

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McArb


Look at the date – it's already September,

And I've got bodies I must dismember.

I've been a bit lazy and lapsed to deferment,

With a number of corpses lined up for interment.

So now, in my basement, for my shovel I grovel –

Must stop cold cadavers from cluttering my hovel!


The ground's grown softer with the onset of Spring –

More conducive for maggots to do their thing.

And all the better, with pick-axe and spade,

To dig a body-sized six foot deep grave.

For a burial site is never too deep

If you intend for the earth it's secrets to keep.


For a tradesman's only as good as his tools,

And a killer's only as bad as the fools

Who, despite their best efforts, cannot apprehend him.

Or the highly paid lawyers who successfully defend him.

For the law allows evidence of a murderer's depravity

To be thrown out of court on a mere technicality.


So artists like me need not wake in fright

At the sound of a battering ram in the night

Breaking down my front door as the SWAT team comes storming

Without consideration of a proper forewarning.

For oft go awry plans of mice and policemen

Who enter without valid search warrants on them.


So for those who aspire to the killing profession

Let me impart an invaluable lesson.

My first advice is – don't get caught in the act.

Because that tends to stop one's career in its tracks!

If you can get past that first part, it's because I've imparted

Some professional secrets to get you well started.


Roosevelt said "Talk softly and carry a big stick"

But better still – a gun, a knife or a brick!

And don't forget rope, chains, gaffer tape and shears

(The latter especially if you keep souvenirs).

And zip-lock bags for ears, noses, and fingers;

For treasured keepsakes help the memory linger.


How not to get caught? I'll give you a hint –

Avoid at all costs a tell-tale fingerprint.

Disposable gloves must be worn without fail

If it is your intention to stay out of gaol.

And don't dare leave a trace of your own DNA –

A speck of your blood could give the whole game away.

Skilled, careful planning will keep you ahead

Of the clueless detectives awake in their beds

Who fret, rage and squirm with the fear and the dread

Of another report of a missing or dead

Victim of a monster who's well past repenting.

The pressure they're under must be unrelenting!


And that too is part of your own raison d'etre

To make those bumbling constables sweat.

For it adds to the thrill of the kill, if you will,

That there's more to your crimes than the blood that you spill.

For your exploits will be filed in the annals of history,

Yet your actual identity remains a great mystery.

So read on, dear apprentice, and learn more if you're willing

'Cos it's back to the technical side of mass killing.


Large plastic bags are a must if you plan

To stop blood and messy bits spoiling your van.

For a van is essential if it's blood you'll be spilling,

Because you'll find that, generally, your victim's not willing.

Often, surprisingly, they'll need some cajoling –

Or a knock on the head and some bodily rolling

To enter the dark of your windowless van,

And intimately join in your grand master plan.


Eventually, after fun with the now nearly dead,

"How to dispose of what's left?" must resound in your head.

One thing's for sure when you weigh up proposals,

Don't skimp when it comes to a body's disposal.


One school of thought is to leave it arranged

In a public place so police must explain

How, in their midst, a killer is roaming

Without being caught – that will get their mouths foaming!

And perhaps leave a clue to help get the fun started

While you reminisce fondly on the dearly departed.


You could follow the method of old Sweeny Toddy's

And have an accomplice make pies from the bodies.

Or chained to a concrete block in the river –

But not before sampling a slice of fresh liver.

For mister H. Lecter was quick to assure us

Sauteed human offal is really quite moreish.


I hope, dear acolyte, the advice I've imparted

Will assist you in getting your chosen path started.

Some people think that my soul I've forsaken

In pursuing the lifestyle journey I've taken.

But, to be honest, I must make a confession –

I've enjoyed making killing my chosen profession!


© Copyright 2018 nunkmanken. All rights reserved.

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