A true lady of mid-twentieth century perfection,
Everything about her is prim and proper:
Her soft skirt, baby blue and fresh from tea,
Her pristine blouse, white lace and tickling the neck,
Hands folded in her lap and angled to heaven.
No one would know.
She isn’t fresh from tea with Mother and Grandmother
She’s fresh from playing fast and loose
With three dead men.
She is perfection for a young lady
And ideal for a murderer
Because you’d never know what lies beneath what you see.