by Nick Gisburne
“Propose a plan, a way to kill my wife,
And quickly blame another for the crime.
The swift and simple ending of a life
Demands the perfect cover, every time.”
The puzzle, at the interview, unique,
Is just the quaint conundrum I enjoy.
Impressed by what I tell him, in a week
I find myself at work, in his employ.
The fantasy, the fiction, falls apart.
Arrested, I am questioned and accused.
The stabbing of a woman, through the heart.
My prints upon the knife the killer used.
No plan is ever perfect. Nor is he.
His counterfeit confession? That was me.
