We live in another world now,

where forgiveness

is no longer a magic spell,

where potions

are stolen, cannot be wolfed down,

and Lupin cries to the moon.

He wants to be good

but he has this suit ...

They say six foot

is the best depth.

This is so the stench doesn’t arise

and the body is not taken

so easy – for cannibalism,

or even necrophilia.

But five inches in,

and we have hit hard strata.

At first we thought we knew

what we were looking at –

two bodies at most, possibly,

lying atop, a third.

But after a while

we needed the experts,

the archaeologists,

the social diarists

and the film crews.

The first cut was the hardest:

that slice through

still warm sinew

and the gleam of bone.

And now ...

I cannot go any further

than this.

The spade has hit

the denying rock that yields

no more.

Please say no more.

I would have met you half way

– I even wanted to hide

the murderer in the cupboard,

feed him warm milk from these old breasts.

I thought that knowing

we were monsters

would keep us safe,

our brushes with death

keeping us alive.

You didn’t tell us where

the bodies lay.

Keen senses of smell

led us, dogs baying,

that spotting

of the perfect lawn perturbed,

the fountain in the patio

off kilter

and the water killing

the birds,

the keepsakes shining

in a window display.

But she is a forensic expert

– she will find them all.

Although destroyed

and with their souls sucked out,

we have set them free

roaming in a street

near you.

There can be no forgiveness now.

It isn’t even needed.

A monster can’t help but devour,

doing what it is made to do.

All one can do is run and hide.